


Reunion Wears Prada

by DelicatePoem



Series: designer clothes & hot coffee [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Forbidden Love, Idiots in Love, Inspired by The Devil Wears Prada, Inspired by a Movie, Long-Distance Relationship, Mentions of past Emma/Neal, Mutual Pining, New York City, Press and Tabloids, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Some tropes because I love them, fashion magazine, mentions of past Regina/Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-02 23:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelicatePoem/pseuds/DelicatePoem
Summary: [Sequel for The D(evil) Wears Prada]. When Emma Swan left Regina Mills without an assistant during the end of Paris Fashion Week, she never expected she’d get a reference and much less hear from Regina again. Henry Mills brought them back together, and Emma admits that moving on and leaving Runway’s connections behind is not an easy task (and not something she wants to do).However, the press is ruthless, and there’s Regina’s upcoming divorce proceedings to consider, as well as Henry’s well-being and Emma’s career, which might prove to be a bigger challenge than they’d expected when realizing that being apart is impossible.





	1. october 2006

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilRegal_gis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilRegal_gis/gifts), [soundslikehope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundslikehope/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Reunion Wears Prada [Fanart]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666018) by [EvilRegal_gis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilRegal_gis/pseuds/EvilRegal_gis). 



> When I published the first part last year, I had no idea it _would_ be a first part. The response was so great, I knew I had to bring more to this universe. It has become very dear to me.
> 
> I've met some incredible people this year, who helped me with plot details, encouraged me to not give up, wished me the best! A big big thank you to Tabitha, @KizuRai (my biggest fan), Vic, @gaypanic and all the other lovelies I've met along the way because you're wonderful!! Thank you again to the awesome hosts of Swan Queen Supernova — and sorry for all the trouble I may have caused thanks to my delay. I'd like to give a million thanks to my betas, @inkedauthority and @mariacomet. Without you, the story wouldn't be what it is now! Also, thank you to my awesome cheerleader, who coincidentally was my artist last year!! @misthavens, you're amazing! I can't thank you enough for all the support!
> 
> And @soundslikehope, who agreed to take a last-minute look at the story and made me laugh with her amazing commentary throughout everything. Thank you so much!
> 
> Last but not least, thank you to @khaleegis, the artist who made this SUPERB film poster art you can see right [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666018). It's beautiful!!!
> 
> Without further ado, hope you all enjoy it, can't wait to hear what you think. I'd recommend reading the first installment if you haven't yet -- it'll be easier to follow the subtleties. I've left a short summary of what's happened beforehand, though!

###  **Previously, on The D(evil) Wears Prada:**

Emma lands the job as a second assistant to Regina Mills, editor-in-chief of the illustrious Runway Magazine, and manages to last a total of seven months, twenty-three days and twelve hours, before seemingly throwing away her dreams of becoming a journalist.

_“You did the same to Lena... You thought of yourself first.” What? No, no, no. “And I see a brilliant path ahead of you... You just have to be willing to take it. Everybody wants to be us, Emma.” They lock gazes, but Emma looks away, widening her eyes. No, no, no. The thread of panic grows bigger, exponentially bigger._

_She can't stay in this job. She can't. Who has she become?_ You did the same to Lena. _Has she lost herself along the way? She’s becoming selfish. Selfish just as Lena is, just as Jefferson, just as Killian, Fiona, and everyone else in the fashion industry._

_She can't stay. Not if she'll be just as easily cast away. No, she wouldn't be able to handle that. What Regina did to Jefferson could be her in a few months. Hell, in a few days, even. Regina means a lot to her, and she can't lose her.”_

After the disaster that was Paris Fashion Week, they don’t expect to see each other ever again. But Henry, Regina’s son, brings them back together on Emma’s birthday.

_Staring at Emma now, Regina knows she cannot let the opportunity go to waste. Henry has brought her back. That has to mean something._

_“Hello, Emma.” Her voice trembles slightly, but she hopes her expression gives nothing away, not yet. “Would you like to accompany us for dinner?”_

*****

**October 2006**

This is not how Emma imagined her birthday would play out when she woke up today. She’d had it planned, even. She’d visualized some copy editing, then eating her ridiculously expensive cupcake (the only day she allows herself to splurge), maybe a glass of wine or a beer depending on her mood, surfing through TV channels just to keep the noise flowing in the apartment… Nothing extravagant, by any means.

Alas, it seems a rarity: the day something will go according to plan when Emma’s involved. That day will certainly forecast rain and catastrophe, Emma ponders with the hint of a smile on her lips. Unfortunately, her amusement is short-lived, when she hears more of Regina’s speaking on the phone glued to her ear, and remembers just _where_ she is.

She’s waiting for Sidney with Regina and Henry, at the mostly quiet (such thing does exist, in New York!) and luxurious street, with its houses that cost more than Emma’s whole student fees, her apartment and her wardrobe combined. It’s intimidating. What a trio they must make to the passersby.

Usually Regina doesn’t have to wait, because everything is on schedule, and Emma gathers the dinner was probably scheduled for later. Since Emma’s accompanying them, Regina's most likely decided to rush things, hence why they’ve been waiting on the sidewalk. (A lot of hypothetical ideas, Emma knows, but it’s been like this — predicting and anticipating — ever since she'd started at _Runway.)_ She can't imagine Regina would want her presence inside the townhouse anyway.

It’s difficult to swallow — the guilt for disappearing with no formal resignation letter; the constant worry (who am I? just what am I capable of? have I become like the rest of them?); and, worst of all, the waves of hardly repressed _longing,_ which burns like acid and flutters wonderfully in her stomach at the same time. It’s been nearly a month, and she _can’t seem to let it go._

 _“Would you like to accompany us for dinner?”_ Regina asked several minutes ago.

It’s not like she could say no.

There’d been only one time she’d denied her anything: _Paris._ She endured everything else during those months at Runway except their last exchange. It plays on repeat, it always plays on repeat… The insight she didn’t want, she thinks, didn’t ask for, but received anyways.

And how must Emma reconcile with this simple fact… despite knowing what Regina’s capable of — her powerful stance and presence demanding answers everywhere she goes, like she beseeches without actually voicing anything; careless of the thoughts of others, her goal the only one that matters — Emma is still drawn to her, like Regina is a magnet she tried to repel and now here she is, again. It’s a terrifying realization to face.

 _Is this a test?,_ she finally asks herself, her thoughts jumping back to the pressing issue. Why else would Regina invite her? Why? The assistant who had the audacity to leave her… Yes, she’s missed Regina, but what does that make her? She’d also left. For good reasons, honorable reasons.

“That’ll be all.” Regina closes her Motorola with a swift click, irritation palpable in her tone. Thank god she’s not whoever that was on the line.

‘What is she playing at?’ is the question that won't leave her thoughts, though. Emma keeps her eyes fastened on the street, her arms crossed in an attempt to ward off the cold — the leather jacket she's wearing is practically nothing against it. It’s certainly getting chillier at night.

“Henry. Do you have an idea of just how worried I was?” Regina asks quietly, and Emma can only imagine the scare Henry gave her.

She tries to keep her attention elsewhere, tries to answer the questions her brain’s collecting nonstop, tries not to eavesdrop, she truly does, but it’s virtually impossible thanks to her proximity.

“I’m sorry, Mom…” he says just as quietly as Regina had. “It's just that today is Emma’s birthday,” he whispers as if it’s a secret, and Emma barely reins a chuckle in. “I knew she was going to be alone so I wanted to give her my gift.” Regina’s smile drops at that, and Emma fiddles uncomfortably with her glasses, her throat constricting at the idea of Regina’s knowledge that Emma would be alone today otherwise.

"Oh," is what Regina says in response, surprise coloring her tone, like she actually cares.

Pressing her lips together, Emma abstains from saying anything. _What was that?_

Just as she's about to shift away or say something along the lines of 'Forget it, thanks for the invite but my cupcake is waiting for me,' the town car arrives. The conversation taking place without her input is cut short with, "We'll talk about this later," from Regina, and now it’s too late to back out.

[SQ]

She is the editor-in-chief of an award-winning magazine, the arbiter of a four-hundred billion dollars a year industry, the queen of fashion, the influence over the next fashion trend and the ones after. Regina is also one of the most influential people in the fashion and publishing world. Her opinion is what matters, as Jefferson had so aptly put it a few months ago.

The list goes on.

She has been at the helm for seven years, despite the hardships faced.

She has thousands of followers and more than a few enemies; there are those who want to be her and those who want to be _with_ her.

It's also a well-known fact: one shake of her head or pursing of her lips can demolish an entire career.

And yet…

When it comes to Emma Swan, all titles and glamour and grace seem to disappear faster than she can say _Christian Dior_.

Subtly clenching her hands in fists to prevent them from shaking, Regina looks fixedly at the world outside the window, seeing nothing. To be honest, it’s a foolish attempt at seeming indifferent to the conversation taking place, because she doesn't know what to say, doesn't think Emma would appreciate her input. Doesn’t think Emma would want to know the jacket she’s wearing makes her heart skip a beat (or several).

 _Why did I invite her?_ the voice inside her head asks, but that same voice already has the answer, even if she does not want to admit it: _You know why._

“...think you’re going to like the food, Emma,” Regina tunes back in to hear Henry say. “It’s an Italian restaurant. The pasta is awesome.”

Emma chuckles uneasily. Who can blame her? Regina understands this might be the last place her ex-assistant wanted to be spending her birthday.

“I love food,” Emma indulges him, no matter if she sounds uncomfortable, “so I’m sure I’ll love it.” She must have thrown in one of her toothy smiles, but Regina wouldn't know because she is definitely _not looking._

[SQ]

As they pull up in the limo, at least twenty paparazzi are at the sidewalk waiting for them; for Regina more specifically. Lips pursed in her displeasure, Regina finally realizes what a stupid idea this was. After all, this is a famous restaurant, and the vultures are always searching for their next victim for Page Six. Right now she’s their chosen one, especially after speculations of her impending divorce became public — The Wall Street Journal published the day before a _lovely_ piece of Robin’s filing for a divorce. Somebody must have tipped off where she’d be today, see if they could extract anything from her.

“Mom, do you think someone famous is inside?” His eyes sparkle at the possibility, and Regina gives him an affectionate eye roll in response.

Emma moves forward in her seat to understand what’s happening, and as she does, the smell of her sweet perfume drifts to Regina, bringing up memories of a shared elevator in other times. Looking over Henry’s head to Regina’s window, Emma’s mouth falls open. “Uh…”

 _“Uh,_ indeed,” are Regina’s first words inside the car, and she feels discomfited by her own tone, regretting the comment as soon as it left her mouth. _Yes, Regina. Just the right thing to say to her._ She didn’t mean to sound so condescending, but Emma’s scent is wreaking havoc with her brain and leaving her out of sorts.

She holds up a hand, deciding to tackle more important matters than a crush on her ex-assistant. _Honestly, Regina._ She inwardly rolls her eyes. “One minute, there’s something I must do before we go.” And if she is sounding too explanatory for even her own taste, well, she will say it's ostensibly for her son.

Taking her smartphone from her purse, Regina clicks ‘1’ on speed dial and presses it to her ear.

Five seconds later, her first assistant answers. Lena does know how to be prompt. _“Hello, Regina. What can I do for you?”_ Question posed as an affirmative. Good.

Regina doesn't bother with greetings. “Contact Victoria. She better minimize the press for this outing. And make sure to lay down the importance of my son’s protection, or else…”

_“Yes, absolutely, Regina.”_

“That’s all.”

[SQ]

And they are off to a great start—

No, they definitely are not.

If Emma had arrived by herself, she wouldn’t have been able to get out of the car. There are people everywhere, and Emma hadn’t felt the absence of this...this part of Regina’s life. This very important part.

It’s glaringly obvious their lives are quite different. The intriguing point is that Emma doesn’t care: it’s always awe-inspiring to take in Regina’s grace and complete indifference to the flashes, the absurd questions, the ridiculous paparazzi.

“10:30, Sidney,” Regina tells him, then set her sunglasses on, the movement unhurried and languid, turning to the window.

Everything happens so fast. Sidney gets out of the vehicle in the next beat, circling around the front to reach Regina’s door. Subsequently, Regina leaves the car without a care, Henry soon following her, probably used to it. Emma is _not_ used to it.

It’s like their little bubble inside the car was popped when the door was opened. The buzz outside is the equivalent of a full classroom of noisy children. Emma’s eyes widen, overwhelmed. Nonetheless, she follows their cue, pretending like this is an everyday occurrence as she maneuvers herself out of the limo. (No way she’d miss the help of the security guards.)

She picks up on a few of their questions, and _what the hell is wrong with these people?_

“—got anything to add?”

Camera flash.

“Regina!”

More cameras flashing.

“Is it true—”

_And… flash!_

“Regina, Regina!”

“—divorce?”

“Over here!”

Oh my god. Her vision _and_ her hearing may have been permanently affected. Yes, Emma had already experienced something similar to this, firstly on the Benefit night and then when they were in Paris. But never like this, these intrusive, meddlesome press people, crowding them with their cameras and recorders and incessant questions about fucking _rumors!_

And Emma feels the opposite of glamorous with all the flashes; the only article of clothing she’s wearing that is remotely expensive is the jacket. Everything else — her white shirt, her jeans, her scuffed boots — have seen better days. Good thing they weren’t paying any mind to her, more worried with Regina than anything else.

They are stupid, above all. _As if_ Regina would provide any commentary, Emma scoffs inwardly.

(And if she stared at Regina’s ass for a few seconds, there’s no way any picture caught that...right?)

When they finally manage to get inside, she mutters a thank you to the security, a frown etched to her features.

“You get used to it,” Henry whispers to her, freeing himself from under his mom’s arm, and Emma smiles weakly.

The first thing she notices is the brightness of the establishment, and immediately wishes to understand what made Regina choose this restaurant and its Christmas lights festooned along the walls. She doesn’t remember booking anything for Regina here, and would never have suggested it — she is almost positive Regina isn’t appreciative of the fact the homely décor doesn’t scream sophistication. The place is small and crowded, noise and chatter filling every little nook of it.

Wait. She looks around and counts no more than twelve tables and booths combined. There is _one_ booth vacant at the back.

It’s then she notices the chatter diminished in volume when they got in. No matter where Regina goes, she’s always recognized.

“Frank,” Regina greets in her charming voice, turning to an older man sitting on one of the bar stools by the entrance and air-kissing him. The journalist side of Emma instantly craves for the back-story. One of the many mysteries Regina Mills presents, she supposes.

She will ask Henry later.

“Regina, sweetheart,” Frank says warmly, “you haven't changed one bit. And look at you, Henry... You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

Henry grins. “Really? But we were here last month.”

“Just enough time,” Frank answers with a chuckle. He then turns to Emma, who was quite content with listening and waiting for their table, really. “And who might this be?”

“Hi... I’m Emma…” She almost fiddles with her glasses, but stops her hands just in time, slipping them inside her CK jeans’ pockets instead. There’s a thing or two she learned from being constantly in Regina’s presence. “Emma Swan.”

Frank gives her a smile which seems sincere enough for Emma’s shoulders to drop slightly. “I don’t believe I’ve seen her before, Mills,” he tells Regina, intrigued. “A friend of yours?”

Right... _Friends._ Because they _definitely_ are.

Emma barely holds in a snort.

“Mhmm,” Regina hums affirmatively before Emma can fumble for an answer. “Frank, dear, is our table ready?”

“Yes, of course. Right this way.”

[SQ]

Emma exhales into the cold night’s air and smiles, looking up to watch the condensation with every exhale. It strangely reminds her of home; she did this all the time when she was little. ‘Look, Dad, I’m gonna freeze everything!’ she’d tell David as they stood in the backyard watching the stars. Those were the good times where she would dress up as a superhero and chase their dog around.

It’s October 22nd. Christmas is practically around the corner now and that means seeing her family, but… has it really been that long since she left Storybrooke? It seems like an entire lifetime has passed in the span of almost a year.

She shakes her head to focus on more pressing matters, like how she just finished having dinner with Regina and Henry a few moments ago. What’s more, they didn’t fight, the silence wasn’t stifling and there was no tense atmosphere. In fact, it had been fun. Henry did most of the talking, but Emma’s quite sure that his mother wasn’t complaining (probably wanted Emma the hell out of the establishment) as Emma gathered by Regina’s uncharacteristically quiet manner tonight.

And if the lack of messages from Neal or Lily had her in sad spirits for a while, this dinner softened the blow. It was, overall, an enjoyable birthday. Better than eating that sad excuse for a cake she left on the counter and wallowing in self-pity.

Not to mention the food. Neal popped up in her thoughts more than once throughout dinner, because he would’ve loved the place. As she ate the delicious pasta Henry _and_ Regina recommended (there was no menu to choose from) she could imagine Neal concentrating and doing his ‘cook-face’, which meant he was thoroughly analyzing the dish. _Rao’s_ was clearly exclusive or, at least, famous. She’d search that later.

But my god, the sauce was to die for!

_A much more enjoyable birthday, yes._

“252 Broome Street, please,” she says to the taxi driver once she gets inside the vehicle.

She’s lost in her own head the whole way home. Her thoughts are too jumbled to pick apart, and maybe she’s just too tired from the long day at work. The meal had been expensive, but Regina hadn’t batted an eye and refused to let Emma pay. “Nonsense,” she’d said. “It’s your birthday.” And that was that.

Okay, then Regina leaning in and doing that air-kiss thing to say goodbye had startled Emma a lot (visibly, if Regina’s questioning gaze was anything to go by) and her heart twinged painfully, because there it is: the push and pull in her emotions. She’s smitten all over again; it’s maddening that it has clouded her judgement this fast. Why do that? Why not say goodbye like normal people?

 _No, let’s be awkward and pretend I’m one of your besties at an event,_ she thinks, rolling her eyes.

Emma knows she had to leave Regina that day, knows she has the job she wanted and is now on the right path. However, she also knows it was a difficult decision to make — leaving Regina, that is. She misses seeing her on a daily basis. Hearing her voice, watching her in her element...even listening to her nonsensical demands. And Henry... She’s missed his infectious smile and his exuberance. More than she can properly put into words.

Back inside her lonely apartment, Emma throws her keys on the small table near the door and finds Henry’s decorated envelope resting upon it. Smiling softly, she picks it up and opens the seal carefully, lest she tear whatever’s inside. It’s a paper; pulling it out, she finds a drawing. Laughing in pure joy, she takes it in and if her eyes fill with tears, well, there's no one to see it. _Henry is so good!_ , she thinks, gazing down at the drawing in her hands. She traces her fingers along the detailed version of herself holding a _keyblade_ , just like the main character from Kingdom Hearts 2, poised to start the fight against Sephiroth.

Attaching it delicately to her fridge, Emma aches for a way to thank this amazing kid who turned her birthday around. She'll treasure this forever.

[SQ]

Regina is known for being unpredictable. Well, the tabloids have always said so. If the world had _once_ deemed her to be predictable, she would _not_ be where she is now. She’d be forgotten; the magazine would be forgotten; and she would be in the shadow of Cora Mills forever.

It was 1998, one year before becoming editor-in-chief of _Runway._ When she’d started her internship at Elias-Clarke, Mother promised, “One day you’ll be sitting behind this desk as the editor-in-chief of _Food & Wine Magazine _, Regina.”

Regina had, in turn, shivered unpleasantly and flashed her teeth to her mother in a practiced smile, one which she learned from the woman herself. It had been a wonder at the time that her mother hadn't realized just how deeply Regina's displeasure ran, behind her ‘happy’ disposition with the idea. Perhaps Cora had been too excited her _precious daughter_ would keep her reign intact in the years to come.

Five months later, a position as junior editor for _Runway Magazine_ had become vacant, and she took the chance to escape Cora’s immediate control with fierce determination. Plans were made, and Daniel’s full support solidified her choice. “I believe in you, Regina. You can do this,” he’d told her vehemently, eyes sparkling with his wholehearted love for her.

Regina soon learned: to climb the corporate ladder, she would have to shape and mold herself into a different persona; otherwise, would get nowhere in business. No tears, no emotional outbursts, no resignation towards men.

Cora had warned her, “You’re being silly, Regina. Once you realize fashion will lead you nowhere, it might be too late,” as if her fate was carved in stone, as if there was no future for her away from Mother’s sharp claws. But there had been a slight desperation in her tone, Regina recalls. And she used that to remind herself to never give up.

Well, Mother did not live long enough to watch her at the very top, but at least they were able to make amends.

A phone rings outside her office, causing her to blink several times from her reverie. The third new assistant (of whom she has not bothered to learn the name) since Emma left answers the call, “Regina Mills’ office, how can I help you?” and Regina wonders for a second if Human Resources are doing it on purpose at this point. How is it possible for someone’s normal voice to sound like Britney Spears singing ‘Toxic’?

Anyhow, there’s no time to be remembering the past, not when she still has a lot to approve and oversee for December’s issue. No when there are last adjustments to be made for the November issue that must go to printing this evening.

It seems futile, however, to resume her perusal of a few color palettes brought forward this morning. Her mind is elsewhere and that is normally unacceptable, but no one will know; she has to make sense of this utter… _nonsense_ first.

Regina shakes her head, swiveling in her chair to face the window, one of the palettes in hand. She is still unable to fathom… unable to _understand..._ Why did she invite Emma Swan for dinner? Regina is unpredictable, yes, but impulsive is not a word with which she would associate herself.

She’d invited _Emma_ , who surpassed any of the assistants she’s had in a long time. The woman who managed to glimpse behind her mask. The assistant who ultimately did not want to be associated with her after her words resonated inside the car: _“Everybody wants to be us.”_

_Damn you, Emma Swan._

They had a lovely time yesterday, despite Emma’s seemingly nervous disposition. Mercifully, nothing about her time as Regina’s assistant was mentioned, and Regina cannot recall the last time she felt… normal in someone else’s presence. She was still guarded, considering Emma’s departure, but there was no need for niceties because Emma knows her at her worst. And had left. But came back?

It does not make any sense. Nothing does when Emma’s concerned.

She purses her lips — the Art Department is extremely uninspired. Watermelon pink and mustard for the Spring edition? No, no. Perhaps it is her fault, considering what she did in Paris. Jefferson _has_ been distant and avoiding her whenever possible since that fateful day.

Paris… And now she’s thinking of Emma _again._ Damn it.

[SQ]

That same afternoon, Regina is on the way to an offsite meeting when she sees it, sitting innocuously on a newsstand.

There’s a traffic jam; she can check her e-mails. She _is_ expecting a response from Patrick... Or she can review next month’s main spread; it’s somewhere inside her briefcase.

Regina is tapping her fingers on her thighs instead. And lasts all of two minutes before curiosity gets the best of her. “Sidney,” she finds herself saying, removing her sunglasses to stare at the newspaper in her immediate line of sight.

“Yes, Ms. Mills?”

“I want a copy of the _Mirror."_   _Time to see if giving her that reference was worth it._

Sidney nods and leaves the vehicle to do as requested, not caring if they’re double-parked; he perhaps senses the importance of her request. Regina puts back on her Dior sunglasses and waits.

The _New York Mirror_ is nothing special, nothing she has not seen before, but she admits there’s a certain charm to it (and not because Emma Swan has written for Life Stories on page 12, no, not at all). Her humor is dry, her tone is compelling, her writing concise. There’s improvement to be made, but Emma learns fast, and Regina knows this first-hand.

[SQ]

 

 

> **From:** Emma Swan  <emmaswan@nymirror.com>
> 
> **To:** Henry Mills  <henrymills@yahoo.com>
> 
> **Sent:** Monday, October 23rd, 2006 06:32 PM
> 
> **Subject:** Thank you!
> 
> Hey, Henry!
> 
> My gift is attached to the fridge already. I LOVE it, kid! You’re so talented.
> 
> Thank

Emma bites her lip, faltering for a second. _Should I?_

 _Why not?_ It’s not like they’ll be seeing each other any time soon, much to her discontent. Chances are Regina won’t even check Henry’s e-mail. _Right,_ Emma rolls her eyes, _because that sounds exactly like Regina._

Emma sets her fingers on the keyboard and continues typing her message.

 

> Thank you for last night. I had an amazing evening. Please thank your mom for me.
> 
> See you soon (hopefully)!

Pressing the ‘Send’ button, Emma tells herself she would have sent something separately to Regina if she could, if she had her personal e-mail address, which is not the case. She tells herself Regina wouldn’t appreciate it if any of her assistants read anything coming from her (Lena would delete it, no doubt there). Lastly, she tells herself it’s not her fear of Regina’s reaction to it.

_Why do I keep lying to myself?_

_I’m a coward,_ she thinks, remembering she still hasn't thanked Regina for the reference.

Archie, Emma’s editor, emerges from his office just as she’s regretting sending the message in the first place. “Emma, how is the story coming along?”

She turns to him, deciding to focus on her _job_ for the time being. “I’m almost done, just revising a paragraph.”

“Send it in and start on the background information for the other piece.” Emma gives him an affirmative nod, smiling.

She can’t help thinking how contrasting the environment here is compared to _Runway_ . Both are whirlwinds — in whole different aspects. While _Runway_ kept her on her toes (quite literally) with its crazy demands, racks of clothes strewn everywhere and blabbermouth co-workers, the _Mirror_ does so with its telephones ringing nonstop, the ‘click-clack’ of keyboards and the overall atmosphere of the office. Here there’s no tiptoeing around the boss, no pretending, no ‘I have to dress-up because everyone else is’.

However, she can never complain about her tenure at _Runway._ There’s so much she learned with the entire experience. She can solve problems like no one else. She can focus so much better because everything at _Runway_ happened at the same time and she had to be prepared to multi-task.

But there are things she’s not ready to face, her mind carefully reminds her. It’s like being hit by a bucket of cold water when she closes her eyes and Regina’s voice seems to be inside her head, taunting her:

_I see a great deal of myself in you._

[SQ]

Regina takes a look at her wrist, and the hands of her watch tell her it’s 5:53 PM. Opening the door, she calls out, “Henry, I’m home!” and her smile is nearly blinding when the sound of Henry’s excited shout reaches her ears. Her little prince runs to the foyer and throws himself into her arms; she barely has time to set her purse on the ground. They hug for a few seconds, swaying from side to side.

Looking up at her, he exclaims, “You’re home early!”

His toothy smile and sparkling eyes are a sight to behold, even if her heart twinges with guilt – he’s excited because she was able to leave work early, which doesn’t happen often. However, since the divorce began, Regina is trying her best to be more present, and that means shorter work days and less frivolous parties.

“Yes, the magazine is on printing,” she explains, combing her fingers through his hair. “I figured we could have dinner then go downstairs to the workroom for a change.”

Henry bobs his head up and down, hugging her once more before letting go. “I’ll let Carla know you’re home.” He turns around and goes up the foyer steps, skipping on his way to the kitchen.

“We’re eating at the small table today.” She shakes her head amusedly at his antics. Some days he’s just a mass of happy energy, it’s infectious. “And no running inside the house, Henry!”

“Okay, Mom! Yes, Mom!” he shouts from the kitchen. Then a moment passes. “…sorry, Mom! I won’t shout again!”

And now she’s laughing, her shoulders free of any leftover tension from work. Henry is too precious.

[SQ]

Dinner was interspaced with Henry’s tales about school, his latest project and the piano class he had earlier in the afternoon. Regina cannot ignore the fact that Henry is much more at ease without Robin’s presence, one topic leading to another, and another, and another, his excited chatter more than enough to fill every little nook of the house with previously absent warmth.

Now they’ve gone down to the workroom, Regina’s admittedly favorite place of the townhouse. It’s their hidden—

“Mom, what color for the petals?” Henry asks, interrupting her previous train of thought.

“Your background is green...and see here?” Regina points at his contour. “You’re not doing clean brushstrokes. You know what I’d recommend, but the choice is yours,” Regina answers while rubbing his back and perusing his work-in-progress. “It’s beautiful, Henry.”

Her son smiles brightly. “I like what I have so far. And that doesn’t happen often.” He tilts his head. “You were talking about the scarlet red, right? To contrast?”

She hums, moving back to her own easel. “When did you get so smart?”

“I don’t know... I’m your son.”

She chuckles, but it is interrupted by the sound of the computer alerting them to a new e-mail.

“I got it!” He puts away his paintbrush and walks to the desk.

“Who is it from?” she asks, adding a stroke here, another there, composing the shape of legs in high-heeled boots. She needs some light here, and…

“Oh, it’s from Emma!” he says excitedly, and if her eyes widen and she nearly run a line through the middle of the canvas, well, that’s only because Henry’s shout disrupted her concentration.

She sets her brush inside the glass of water. “Hmm. What does it say?” she asks with a tone that belies her racing heart.

“It’s a thank-you note! About yesterday.” Now standing behind the chair, she leans down to read the e-mail.

“‘Please thank your mom for me’,” Henry reads out loud. “You’re already reading it, so…”

_What does she want? Why not send that to me, instead?_

Regina’s lips upturn. Now here’s a chance…

“Click Respond. There’s something I want to…”

[SQ]

Emma throws herself on the couch and exhales in relief. A job well-done today, she thinks, after being able to forward her draft for the next story.

Her laptop pings, alerting her to an e-mail. It can be Archie or one of her co-workers, so she must check it before tending to her grumbling stomach. With a sigh, she maneuvers herself so she can reach the coffee table, arm outstretched to swipe at the pad, turning the monitor screen back on.

There, she finds a response from Henry.

 

 

> **From:** Henry Mills  <henrymills@yahoo.com>
> 
> **To:** Emma Swan  <emmaswan@nymirror.com>
> 
> **Sent:** Monday, October 23rd, 2006 07:48 PM
> 
> **Subject:** RE: Thank you!
> 
> Hey Emma!
> 
> I’m so glad we got to spend your birthday together!! I miss you, okay? I miss scaring you every time you delivered the Book. Don’t be a stranger, I mean it!
> 
> Oh, and Mom says, ‘You could have thanked me directly, I won’t rip out your heart if that’s what you are worried about.’ Her words. Not mine.
> 
> Anyway, I gave you that drawing because I have hope you’ll beat him one day. Even before I do!
> 
> Talk to you soon!
> 
> Henry

 

Correction: a response from Henry _and_ Regina.

Emma starts to laugh, staring back at the ceiling, a soft laugh that manages to cut through the silence of the apartment like a hundred knives — it’s not a good, full belly laugh, because she doesn’t know what to feel. She doesn’t know if she’s happy Regina has… reached out? (or whatever the hell that was), if she’s weary, if she’s giddy, if she’s fearful, if she’s just…

“I’m tired,” she concludes with a grumble, pleading to whoever’s listening that they shed some light and give her a clue of what’s going on, damn it.

Covering her face with her hands, Emma heaves a sigh. If this is a twisted game of some kind to Regina, _like hell_ that Emma will participate.


	2. yearning and starbucks coffee

**November 2006**

November comes, and with it more and more responsibilities that pile up and overlap. There are divorce meetings looming about, a huge amount of paperwork to fill and choices to run through every day. Regina tells herself she doesn’t mind any of that, she shouldn’t. After all, she is _Regina Mills,_ there is no time for complaining and feeling tired.

But she is, she _is_ feeling tired.

Some days she wakes up and going through her routine again makes her want to scream. 5:45 AM and the alarm resonates through her skull just as the day before. Regina presses the button with such strength that it’s a miracle the damned thing has not broken.

She moves her hands to her eyes and groans. “No rest for the wicked…”

There’s no Robin beside her, snoring away, an arm around her. Their last months were difficult, yes, but is it so bad she misses what his presence meant?

Regina is aware of the fact that she is responsible for the next fashion trend and the ones after; she determines the clothes people will wear. She’s the editor-in-chief of the most popular fashion magazine in the world.

But Regina is also aware that no one is there to share these accomplishments with her at the end of the day. Who will genuinely listen to her…? Maya? Donatella?

Sighing, she pushes back the covers, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. She lets her legs drop to the side, and before her feet touch the floor, she puts her slippers on.  

However, Regina does not let these thoughts deter her—she’s still _Regina Mills,_ editor-in-chief of _Runway Magazine,_ and nothing brings her down, with the exception of a second assistant whose sole presence could change Regina’s views of the way the world should work. Her interest had been piqued. And that happened so fast even the butterflies in her stomach couldn’t keep up.

Even if that’s the absolute truth, _she does not let it deter her._ No. Her shoulders are stiff and squared, her impeccable mask in place, her aloof persona intact. It won’t do to slip up and become a target for those vultures desperately waiting for her demise.

Regina does her morning routine on autopilot. She could say she misses the constant talking from Robin, but he never did say anything remotely interesting to her, or even paid attention to what she wanted to tell him about her recent accomplishments. So, as time passed, Regina understood it was better to tune him out than to hope he'd listen to her for a change.

Now, though, there's a silence she's not accustomed to and she finds herself craving the buzz from the office; the thrill that comes from being on top of her game.

Regina _has_ promised she will not lie to herself anymore, though, ever since she admitted her feelings for one blonde ex-assistant.

(There is an odd little tug in her chest that tells her there’s more to this than just winning at her self-imposed game.

She might be feeling _lonely._

But Regina has never indulged these preposterous notions for long.

They will bring nothing but failure if she dwells on them too much.)

[SQ]

Her morning routine might be done on autopilot by now, but the one thing Regina ponders carefully is her outfit. That's a craft, something that needs thoughtful and meticulous planning, as well as its proper acknowledgement. Today, to match her weird mood—which she has not quite yet figured out—she decides upon wearing a killer pantsuit from Versace and high-heeled boots to tower over those ridiculous men at the board meeting.

"I can't believe I have to deal with Robert Gold today," she says to herself, rolling her eyes as she exits her enormous closet. They have not spoken much to each other after his failed coup two months ago.

_Well, he won't be removing a cent from my budget for a while, that's for sure._

Her next stop is Henry, to give him a goodbye kiss before leaving for the day. She climbs up the stairs to the third floor with practiced steps even in heels.

She peeks into his bedroom and finds him rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Henry… Did I wake you up? You still have time to sleep, honey.”

Henry yawns tiredly and nods. “Just couldn't sleep anymore. I wanted to give you a hug before you left.”

Regina smiles: now _that’s_ a proper way to start her day.

She makes her way to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, sniffling the top of his head. She pulls back a little, eyebrows quirked up.

“I think _someone_ needs a shower.”

“Mom!” He laughs, letting go of her and falling back on the bed.

[SQ]

At precisely 6:30 AM, not a moment earlier and not a moment later, her hair and makeup artist rings the doorbell and in half an hour everything is perfect, ready for another ruthless day in the fashion world. Sidney arrives at 7:02, which doesn't happen often, and her mood has further improved by everyone's promptness.

Regina has fifteen minutes give or take until she gets to the office, so she uses that time to check her e-mail and text messages, to give the first instructions for the day and to take a last minute look at the Book.

Wondering why they’re taking so long, Regina lifts her eyes from her Blackberry. She glances outside and does a double-take, because there goes Emma Swan on the other side of the street, wearing the gray beanie and the red leather jacket _she_ gifted her once upon a time.

She gave and gave lots of things, and none of them will ever be acknowledged.

The urge to say something, however, surpasses any good sense.

(Especially when the fluttering feeling inside her chest manifests itself again at the sight of Emma Swan.)

Once that’s decided, with sure fingers she finds Emma’s number, there on speed dial, not as **_1_ ** or even **_2_ ** on her work phone (and only because it’s her work phone). Punching **_4_ ** —numbered that way after Lena, then the second assistant and, finally, Sidney—Regina closes her eyes as she hears the line tell her ‘this number no longer exists’.

Of course, she had forgotten about the rumours — the gossip around the office concerning a phone thrown away at a fountain and a payment made on HR to take care of the damage from the irreplaceable T-Mobile.

Her face collapses behind sunglasses.

And there goes Emma, probably on her way to work, who will never know Regina was not able to reach her.

[SQ]

Emma repeats in her head it’s just a coincidence, just a coincidence that her morning coffee is bought from the same Starbucks she used to get Regina’s daily coffees (no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot, her mind supplies _oh so helpfully)._  She repeats it’s just a coincidence every single day she walks inside the establishment. Maybe this way it’ll stop ringing so false even to her ears.

It’s been almost two months since she left _Runway_ and it’s crazy how she’s unable to let it go. How she still finds ways to replicate previous work rituals and afterwards lies to herself saying it’s more practical and convenient.

She brushes past the exiting people as the door from Starbucks opens, the enticing smell of coffee engulfing her when she finally walks in. Standing in line, she casts her gaze around for a lack of a better thing to do, and hears a British accent drawl before she sees— “For the last time, I have _no_ idea about what's happened…”

There, waiting by the counter, one hand on her hip and the other holding the phone to her ear, is no other than Lena, her shiny auburn curls unmistakable.

 _Why is_ she _getting the coffee?_

“...oh, absolutely—Regina, what has your knickers in a twist this time? Would you mind terribly if I asked why you fired the new assistant?” Oh, there it is. Lena is back to performing a two-woman job. “Honestly, Jefferson.” Emma fights the urge to snort as she listens.

“Thank you,” Emma says to the man at the counter, who has already punched in her order (he knows her from her time as Regina’s assistant). She watches as another barista carries a tray of coffees to Lena. The wonders of not having to pay in cash because it goes directly to the _Runway_ account…

“...yes, yes, there are two run-throughs scheduled,” she tunes in to Lena’s conversation while paying for her order. _Come on, come on, don't let her see me, come on…_ “It shan’t… Just…do not let them bring anything remotely yellow and we’ll be fine...mhmm, well, good luck. You’ll be needing it. I’ve got the order now, so I’ll see you in a few—”

Lena turns and sees her and damn it, that definitely was _not_ a part of the plan. She grabs her coffee order and thanks the guy again, wincing.

“If it isn’t _Emma Swan,_ the traitor herself,” Lena says, clicking something on the phone and removing it from her ear, eyebrows raised at the sight of her. Of all people she could’ve met today, it _had_ to be Lena. “What brings you here?”

“Hey, Lena.” She raises her coffee, shrugging. “Same as you, I suppose.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “You’re so funny.” They start walking to the exit. “Well, I can’t believe I’m saying this… and if you tell anyone, you’re going back to Kansas.”

“Storybrooke.”

“I don't care. What’s important is that work’s been hell since you’ve left. I’m even having to carry the tray of coffees again, because Regina fired another assistant yesterday and they haven’t found a replacement.” Emma takes a sip of her coffee as they step outside, back to noisy Manhattan. “Indulge me for a moment, will you? Regina’s in a meeting for the next thirty minutes so that means I can finally take a time to _breathe.”_

She had forgotten that Lena loves to complain. And god, does she walk fast in heels. Her strut is purposeful as she holds four coffees in her hands. These skills are so not receiving the praise they deserve, Emma is certain.

They parted ways amicably, in the end. Especially after Emma donated most of her clothes from Paris to her. She sent an e-mail inquiring if Lena would be able to take some of them off her hands, since Emma wouldn’t wear them anyway. (And Lena also realized her broken leg wouldn’t be useful there either.)

The bitterness has receded… for the most part.

“The only explanation is… you’re bonkers.” Lena supplies matter-of-factly, not caring whether Emma can keep up or not. “Seriously, why did you leave? You’d made my job ten times easier! I’m still mad about Paris, by the way. No one dares to utter your name around the office, and it’s been bloody difficult to find a decent assistant—”

“Lena, Lena, wait.” Emma interrupts, stopping in her tracks, carefully gripping Lena’s arm so as she doesn't jostle the tray. This is the wrong way, she has to go to the Mirror, not Elias-Clarke!

“I’d really, really like to hear about this, but I gotta get to the office,” Emma points with her thumb to the opposite direction.

Lena huffs. “Of course you do... Well, I need your new number because this conversation is definitely not over.”

“Your number’s the same, right? I think I have it noted down somewhere, I’ll call you or something. How about we meet up for dinner? Jefferson’s welcome to join us. I really missed you guys.”

Lena sighs like it’s a great burden, but Emma knows it’s all just an act by now. “Fine, fine. Yes, my number’s the same. Call me around seven pm and we’ll arrange something.”

“Okay. Well, it was good seeing you, Lena. Talk to you later.”

“I know. Farewell, Emma Swan.”

[SQ]

Regina shouldn’t let her emotions get the best of her, she shouldn’t, but it is hard to admit to yourself you miss someone this terribly.

The morning felt gray after seeing Emma and realizing she’s out of reach. And what a stupid idea anyway, attempting to call her for no apparent reason. _What was I thinking?_

She wasn’t thinking, and therein lies the problem.

Regina walks around, analysing the model from head to toe, then shakes her head. Something’s not matching. Nothing seems to fit today. Not even Jefferson is speaking up if he’s not asked — everyone must be aware she’s in an awful mood (she can admit to _that,_  no problem).

“We’ve got a few pieces from Banana Republic,” Ursula mentions, showing her a white sleeveless blouse.

Regina sighs, drumming her fingers on her crossed arms. “We’ve been there, done that. I want something new. Jefferson?”

She watches as he moves the hangers on the clothing rail, mumbling to himself. He then takes a lovely lace-embroidered skirt from… “Ralph Lauren?” he offers.

“Hmm, at least someone came prepared,” Regina says, raising an eyebrow, not quite happy but feeling more settled. Jefferson is slowly setting his grudge aside and focusing on the important business. “With the right accessories it could work...” she says distractedly and stares fixedly at nothing in particular, trying to visualize the idea in her mind.

 _What color, what color…_ She has plans for Jefferson. _Perhaps a light fabric?_ She will makes amends with him, it’s only a matter of time. _Silk. Azure._ What she did to him is still stomach-churning, and she can’t have that — the guilt is not something she likes to dwell in.

_Perfect._

“Lena?” she calls.

“Yes, Regina?” her assistant’s voice asks from somewhere behind her.

“The Hermès scarves you acquired yesterday.”

“Right away.”


	3. old colleagues

It’s Friday, around seven-thirty when Emma walks up the stairs of the chosen restaurant, nearly stumbling as she pushes the door open (heels are not a necessity of her new job, fortunately _and_ unfortunately — she’s lost practice, and it definitely shows). The image of herself tripping over right at the entrance is not one she likes to entertain.

Emma glances around, trying to find Jefferson or Lena in any of the nearest tables. No such luck. She resists the urge fix her shirt’s collar, fiddling with the strap of her Marc Jacobs purse instead. The maître d’ eventually inquires if she has a reservation in her name, putting her out of her misery.

“There’s a reservation under Hatter or Green, I’m not sure which.”

As the woman leads her through the rows of tables, turning in a corner, Emma bites her bottom lip, her mouth suddenly dry from her nervousness.

Jefferson gets up when he spots her. “Emma Swan. Long time no see,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “What I do _see_ is that you’ve managed to retain some of my lessons.” He analyzes her choice in outfit with a critical eye, while she tries to keep herself from showing her uneasiness. “I’m impressed.”

Emma chuckles, nearly exhaling audibly from the relief his words bring. At least she’ll be saying one thing went right by the end of this encounter. “Oh, some things have definitely stuck,” she answers him. “I had to give away all the ugly sweaters I had.”

“I’d drink to that, but Lena hasn't arrived yet. Something to do with the Book, I imagine,” he says, motioning to the seat closest to him in the round table. “Sit, sit.”

They both sit down, and Emma hooks her purse on her assigned chair in the process.

She gazes around the establishment. The restaurant is furnished with reds and blacks, the tables with a good distance between them to give some sense of privacy, the room bathed in a light that isn’t too bright for the eyes. “Nice place here, huh?”

“Yes, lovely thing they have going on,” Jefferson says distractedly, fiddling with his Louis Vuitton scarf, and as she looks back at him, he does not meet her eyes for some reason.

She frowns. Something’s not right. Jefferson is not a nervous guy, he’s confident, self-assured. Never distracted. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine, fine, you know how it is, busy schedule and one run-through after the other at this time of the month.” He laughs but it sounds forced. Emma’s tenure at _Runway_ may have been somewhat brief, but there’s a thing or two she’s learned about her co-workers along the way.

She crosses her arms. “Okay, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. Better than fine.” She pauses, making sure she’s staring right into his eyes. “But I know you’re lying. I have a thing—I can spot a lie from miles away. Don’t give me that look, Jefferson. I’m not kidding.”

Jefferson heaves a sigh. “You can be quite persuasive when you put your mind to it, Swan.”

Chuckling, she leans back against her seat and waits.

“You do know she’ll pay me back?” he eventually asks. _Who the hell is he talking about—_ He raises his finger, seeing her about to cut him off. “I am talking about Regina, before you interrupt me. I don’t know why you felt it was necessary to give up… was it eight? Approximately eight months of hard work for…”

Emma tunes him out, cheeks flushing, blood _boiling._ Because _how dare he?_ How dare he assume anything? She frowns, gripping her fork. Why is she so mad about it, though?

Her decision wasn’t about him. Not entirely. Not even a quarter of it. He was in the mess that caused her to leave, maybe a sum in the equation...

But her reasons are her own.

“Oh my god,” Lena groans while taking the last seat available, cutting through the fog in Emma's mind. She clenches her jaw, breathing heavily through her nose to calm herself down, letting go of her fork. “They had forgotten to make the last minute changes Regina gave me earlier. I hope you two haven’t ordered yet, because I’m desperate for a glass of wine and a good meal. What a horrible week, I tell you… Have I missed anything interesting? You were looking quite chummy there,” she observes. “I hope you haven’t spilled all the gossip, Emma. I’ll be extremely disappointed if that were to be the case.”

Clearing her throat, Emma shakes her head and blinks to put the conversation to the back-burner. She chuckles half-heartedly. “No, not at all.”

_Way to kill the mood, Jefferson._

“We haven’t ordered,” he reassures his co-worker, seemingly forgetting all about his previous _helpful_ commentary. _What the hell._ “The square she wanted on page 31?”

 _“Now_ is there, behind the text with the new font she also requested...frankly, the incompetence of some people. Sometimes I get why Regina gets so pissed off all the time.”

Jefferson raises his eyebrows. “You sure about that? She almost bit Ingrid’s head off today. I have no idea what had her in such a mood, but it was awful.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.” Lena pierces him with a mock-glare. “She sent the new assistant to get her another coffee five minutes after she’d got one.” Lena pinches the bridge of her nose, ever the dramatic, and shakes her head as if to say ‘Is this really necessary?’

Lena grabs the menu to peruse her options. “But enough about Regina,” she says, waving the hand not holding the menu dismissively. “I have no idea how you did it. She didn’t blacklist you!”

Emma forces a smile. Why did she agree to this dinner again? Busying herself with a menu of her own, she balks at the clearly overpriced food, almost choking on her own saliva. _There goes my salary._

“She didn’t!” Jefferson exclaims. “How did she leave the battlefield without a chink in her armor is beyond me!”

Emma avoids their eyes, her fingers curling more tightly on the menu, and she momentarily entertains the thought of her nails denting the leather, a way of making...something else feel her irritation. It sounded better in her head.

“How in the hell did that happen? I want details.” Lena says, and Emma finally looks up, jaw clenched, teeth grinding.

“Fine,” she snaps, swiftly dropping the menu on the table. “Let’s make one thing clear, okay? I left for _me,”_ she points to herself, “I didn’t leave because of— the betrayal,” she glares at Jefferson, who hunches slightly on his seat, chagrined. “I would’ve been fine, I think, if it weren’t for one simple fact…” Emma trails off, her chest heaving, cheeks probably pink with embarrassment. She let herself get away with her emotions.

“Which is?” Jefferson prods hesitantly.

She turns to him, “I was changing everything I knew about myself for a job that wasn’t even what I wanted in the first place. So no, Jefferson. I didn’t give up eight months because I was mad at her. Well, I was. But I was mad with myself, too.”

[SQ]

After Jefferson and Lena manage to blink away from their stupefied expressions, they place their orders. Soon, with wine flowing between them, the initial awkwardness is left behind. They eventually ask about her job, and the reference, and then Emma mentions the last time they saw each other, at a dinner! and one thing leads to another until…

“This must mean something to her then,” Jefferson suggests when Emma finishes the birthday story, raising his glass in Lena’s direction. “Not in a ‘I-don’t-want-to-train-another-assistant’,” he marks his words with air quotes, “way, like we initially thought.”

It’s like they’ve spoken in length about it. It’s like Jefferson erased her from the table and the two of them were there chattering by themselves.

“Okaaay,” Emma drags out the word, causing them to turn back to her, startled. Ha. Busted.  “You’ve lost me there.” _This must mean something to her—to Regina? To... me?_ “Mean something?”

Lena and Jefferson share a look she almost misses as she sips her wine to wash away the uncertainty of not knowing something apparently vital. There’s a bigger picture she’s failing to see.

“What? What’s with that?” she asks, lowering her glass and gesturing between them.

“Nothing,” they reply in unison.

Emma narrows her eyes, grabbing her fork again and brandishing it in their direction, elbow on the table. “You’re terrible liars, I hope you know that. Spill.”

Sighing, Lena’s fingers trail the rim of her glass of wine. “I’m not sure that’s for the best…” she mumbles—and Lena is loud, is not afraid of speaking up—so Emma tilts her head, equal parts apprehensive and curious.

“Swan… do you remember that time we went out… well, it was a long time ago, you might not recall it, but— We went out and you told us something so extraordinary I think Lena almost had a heart attack right there.”

“Jefferson, I don’t think—”

“She asked, Lena. And they’re all assumptions, for starters,” Jefferson cuts her off. “Well, that day you told us you boarded the elevator with Regina, and—”

“That never happened before,” Emma nods as she completes his sentence, now understanding what he was mentioning.

“Yes. She is unpredictable, but not _that_ unpredictable.”

“She called for you at least three times in the office since she came back from Paris,” Lena adds, playing along. “Oh, oh! We can’t forget about the newspaper subscription!”

“Say _what?”_ asks Emma, eyes wide and mouth open in astonishment. “She— how… why?”

“How am I supposed to know? I’m being serious. About a month ago, she called the second assistant in the office and asked why the subscription for _The Mirror_ was not there. I swear, I thought the girl was going to pass out.”

Her brows furrowing, Emma chews on a gnocchi as she digests the information. It tastes like… like… She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how she feels about it. Is this a way to know how she’s faring at the new job, if she’s screwing it up completely? Or… Regina could just be curious… couldn’t she? Besides, since when has Emma’s life become that important to Regina’s very busy one? “Is she keeping tabs on me or something?” Emma asks with a weak chuckle, because nothing makes sense! “Why would she...”

“Precisely— Why would she keep tabs on you? Emma, be serious. This _means_ something.”

Emma will later know she’s being stupid. For now, she’s confused as hell.

“Why do you keep saying that!” she cries, shaking her head. “I don’t know—!”

“The gifts,” he says out of the blue, eyes lighting up as if he discovered the next trend of fashion. He starts listing on his fingers, “The phone, the jacket—”

“Gifts?” _The jacket? No… he can’t be talking about…_ “The leather jacket?” Emma asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” Jefferson nods. “From the leather jacket story she killed—”

“For April’s issue!” Lena finishes, dawning on her at the same time. “You did not tell me that!” she gasps, mock-offended.

“She made me promise I wouldn’t tell!” Jefferson defends himself. “Just like we couldn’t tell about the other stuff.”

“T-the other stuff?” Emma asks, flickering her eyes back and forth between them, completely _lost._

“Those samples she didn’t want, the fancy clipboard...”

“...the beanie, the other clothes—”

“Wha— wait—” Emma sets down her fork with a loud _chink_ against the plate.

“The company credit card! How could we forget that one.”

“Is that not… common?”

Not caring for the interruption or the fact that Emma is panicking just a little, Jefferson proceeds, “And the moment Regina arrived inside the party in Paris, she was pale, as if she’d witnessed a murder or... a fashion disaster, like Merlin Knight’s designs that time. So I asked her if she’d killed you inside the car— please remember I was still very angry with her,” he reminisces, fixing his scarf unnecessarily. “She just stared right into my eyes and said, quite seriously, _‘Something like that.’”_

“What?” Emma whispers, and briefly thinks she must be sounding like a broken record, asking the same things over and over.

“And at the time I didn’t think much of it, not when I couldn’t stand to look her in the eye.” Jefferson adds, the skin between his eyes squeezed together, some leftover resentment visible.

Lena pinches the bridge of her nose. “...Shouldn’t even be interfering, what if we’re not right...” she grumbles.

Emma leans back against her seat, silent. She thinks she’s nodded to Jefferson, she’s pretty sure, but can’t be certain.

_Okay, Emma, think._

What does she know?

There’s a newspaper subscription. The birthday dinner. The gifts — the jacket! The reference. And this...and that...

Everything jumbles together in her head, moments that were nothing of importance alone now exponentially magnified—and everything is suddenly too much: the ambience piano music is sounding discordant to her ears; the voices, which she wasn’t even registering before, now are _too much_ at once— everything is suddenly muffled by the cotton that’s installed itself in her eardrums.

There is silence in their table and Emma wonders for a brief second if they can hear the thump of her own heart, loud as it is to her ears.

Her mouth is downturned and suddenly, suddenly… it all changes, and what was once perceived as anger and disappointment or wasn’t at all connected to Regina is altered, because there are other possibilities to consider. She deflates, breathing out a soft, “Oh.”

 _This means something to her._ And it might not be a bad thing.

“Are you sure, though?” she asks as an afterthought.

“Honey, I’m sure about many things. I’m _certain_ that orange won’t be the color of the winter—god forbid—but if I’m sure about this? No, of course not. It’s Regina, after all.”

Lena raises her wine glass. “I second that,” she says, drinking a mouthful.

“Fine, fine,” Emma concedes. “Let’s say you’re right—”

“I’ve known Regina for nearly seven years. I must have learned _something_ from it,” he shoots back immediately as he goes back to rolling his pasta.

“Okay,” Emma nods, munching on a gnocchi, which tastes delicious with her worries out of the way (or… mostly out of the way). “Why tell me these things? If you’re so sure, why…” _didn’t she contact me again?_ She stops her train of thought before the words come out of her mouth. Regina did contact her...in her own way.

Oh my god.

“...why?” Lena prompts.

“Never...mind…”

_Am I really this stupid? Oh my god._

Emma didn’t pick up on the signs, and they were right _there_ for her to see.

(There’s a voice in her head, however, that tells her this can’t possibly be right, that they must be joking.

After all, she did leave them during one of the most important weeks of their line of work, without thinking of the consequences. Never thinking of the consequences. Just acting on pure instinct.

This voice tells her Regina can’t have… I don’t know… missed her? Or felt something other than bitterness. Because why would she, for a second assistant that started working there by pure necessity and not because fashion was remotely interesting to her. Why would Emma be of any importance, besides for keeping Regina’s agenda organized and picking up the Hérmes scarves orders and blistering hot no-foam skimmed lattes with an extra shot?

But this voice also admonishes her for being so stupid, not realizing that the butterflies in her stomach as Regina openly laughed with her while walking down _Champs Elyseés_ had to have meant something. If not to Regina, than to herself. Not realizing that wanting to touch Regina’s apparently smooth hands during the flight was a little bit… weird, and not realizing that not being able to stop crying during the trip back home was more than simply throwing away a future job opportunity.)

Emma almost says, “Thanks guys. I’m fucking oblivious, it seems,” but refrains from it. It’s okay to be open about it with _herself;_ admitting it to them might be a stretch—

“Onto lighter topics, a promotion might be coming up,” Jefferson gushes, interrupting her train of thought.

“Wow, really?” Emma grins, glad for the change. There will be time to think about the implications _later._

“Even _I_ didn’t know about that!” Lena says with an indignant tone.

“It’s all talk for now… I’m so excited!” he says, truly smiling, and Emma pictures him exactly like this in Paris, in a hotel room, telling her about _Merlin Knight International_ and _I’ll finally be in charge,_ and pictures his disappointment as his dreams were crushed right in front of him by _Fiona Fayette_ and plans bigger than himself.

And so they listen as Jefferson tells them as much as he can, that _Elias-Clarke has plans for the future of the magazine_ and that things might change for him _soon._ It has Regina’s fingertips all over it. Is this what Jefferson meant before? Regina paying him back?

And Emma’s head can’t stop spinning, Regina’s name in her mind over and over again.


	4. white roses & pink carnations

Emma spends the entire weekend debating what to do with the information she’s received on Friday.

In the end, even the _possibility_ of having hurt Regina’s feelings sits uncomfortably in her chest. Emma knows she’s not at fault here, not exactly. Knows that Regina had her reasons for doing what she did, and those reasons didn’t bode well for Emma when she thought ahead in the game. But it doesn’t exempt her from missing Regina, from feeling bad for things that were beyond her control — there were casualties on both sides when Emma made her decision.

So that’s why, come Monday morning, Emma hits the alarm clock off a lot earlier than usual, reminiscent of her former routine. She grumbles into the pillow, eventually shuffling out of bed and dragging her feet to the bathroom.

What she’ll be doing is important, she repeats in her mind, but 6:00 am is not a time at which she particularly enjoys waking up, especially when her bed felt insanely warm and the rest of the world is definitely _not._ Her feet are cold and her hands are cold and everything is cold— where are her boots, by the way?

A few minutes later— _twenty_ minutes later, who’s she trying to fool, _herself?_ —, she’s decent enough to brave the weather: her jacket is zipped up, the gray beanie is on her head, she’s grabbed her messenger bag.

Now to the difficult part.

Outside her apartment, she calls Lena. “Hey, it’s Emma. Has Regina arrived yet?”

_“Hello, yes, everything's just peachy, thank you for asking.”_

Emma rolls her eyes, because _of course_ Lena has to be sarcastic all the way.

“Hi, Lena, I’m glad you’re okay, you’re welcome,” she says in one breath, walking in the direction of the subway station. “Is Regina there?”

 _“No, not for another…”_ Here she pauses. _“Forty minutes or so… Should I even ask?”_

“Okay, I need…” Emma looks both sides before crossing the street. “Have you grabbed her coffee order yet?”

_“Of course not, the thing will be tepid if I get it now.”_

“Can I do it?”

 _“You’re bonkers. That’s it.”_ She can _see_ Lena pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. _“You want to get me fired, that was your big master plan all along.”_

Emma sighs, finding a seat inside the subway. “No. I just… I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important, alright?”

Lena doesn't answer and for a moment Emma thinks she has disconnected the call.

But then…

 _“Alright, alright,”_ Lena grumbles, and Emma has to refrain from fist-pumping the air. _“You’re on your way, I gather?”_

“Yep.”

_“Do not mess it up, or I swear I will blacklist you myself.”_

With those sweet words from Lena, phase one of her plan is now complete.

[SQ]

Lena nearly pushes her through the wall in her haste to get to her side at the reception. Regina raises an eyebrow but decides not to bother herself with it. She’s in a relatively good mood, after all.

Lena clears her throat and adjusts her clipboard.

“Anything I should know?”

“Uhm… Gold has scheduled lunch for 12:30. And Dalton has called, they said they’d forgotten about the permission slip—”

“Fine.” Lena sounds nervous. More than usual, that is. She does not want to hear her stuttering anymore than necessary. “I need to see what Jefferson has for me.”

Lena hums, writing it down.

“And then there's the run-through, I want it at 9:45.”

“But—”

“I know, but I have a conference call with Italian Runway. It has to be earlier.”

“I’ll let everyone know.”

“Make sure you do. Have we heard back from the hotel?” Regina asks as they round the corner.

“I’m expecting their confirmation at 9.” Lena replies, taking a deep breath as she opens the glass door. The second assistant’s desk is empty.

It seems another assistant has not lasted.

Regina removes her coat and even holds it out for Lena, as well as her bag. She walks in the direction of her own office, the sound of her heels clacking against the floor oddly soothing.

Before she takes the final step beyond the doorway, Regina pivots on her heels. “Get Jefferson now, anything else can wait.”

Lena breathes out a sigh of relief, and Regina tilts her head, hand on her hip. What the hell is going on with her? “Go.”

Eyes widening, Lena splutters, “Ah—Right. I’ll just…” and scurries away.

Shaking her head, Regina enters her office, and just as she’s getting behind her desk, from the corner of her eye there’s movement, and a throat clearing.

She briskly turns in the direction of the sofa on the left and jumps, putting a hand to her rapidly beating heart. “What the hell are you doing here?” Regina asks, rolling her eyes at her own scare.

Emma. In her office. Holding a Starbucks coffee in one hand and a carefully arranged bouquet of white roses and pink carnations in the other. _What?_

“Hi, Regina.” Emma comes closer and holds out the coffee. “Here, one no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot,” she offers, a playful smile tugging at her lips. Regina grabs it, not taking her eyes from her face, mouth slightly open. “I wanted to… apologize.”

Regina blinks, but turns in the direction of her desk to avoid doing something foolish such as kissing Emma’s dimples. _For god’s sake, Regina._ “And those are for me, I assume?” she asks, setting the coffee on her desk, looking over her shoulder at Emma, who tells her _yes, they are,_ then comes closer, circles around her to gently place the bouquet next to the coffee and takes a step back.

For a moment, Regina settles her palm on the glass surface, letting the cold sharpen her senses and remind her of the fact that _no,_ this is not just another day in the office where Emma brings her coffee, Regina gives out a few instructions, they maintain eye contact for several beats as Regina finishes with, ‘That’s all,’ and maybe stares at Emma’s flowy curls as she walks away.

Emma does not work here anymore.

Moving behind her desk, Regina sits down on her chair, at a loss for words.

There’s a pause, and then, “This is me, um… thanking you. For the reference?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Regina can’t help but tease, smirking as she takes her Starbucks in her hand.

“First rule: don’t ask Regina anything,” Emma says boldly, a smile stretching out until her whole face is illuminated by it and, lowering her head for a second, adds, “Enjoy the coffee.”

Just like that, she leaves the office, and Regina does stare at her as she’s walking away. And when Regina moves the coffee to her lips, she realizes she’s been smiling the whole time.

[SQ]

The sun has peaked from the clouds, bringing some heat to this autumn morning. Not that Emma needs it, because her whole body warmed up by the time she scurried away through the maze that is _Runway_ and entered the elevator, shaking her head at her own bravery, but so pleased that her crazy idea paid off.

Feeling her lips twitch into a smile, Emma nearly begins to skip down the street in her enthusiasm, the adrenaline not having worn off yet. Regina liked it! She really did.

How they move forward is up to Regina now, and she feels unsettled, in a mixture of nervousness and eagerness for it to be soon.


	5. e-mail and phone call

The Lincoln Town Car stops outside Elias-Clarke, and Regina slides her sunglasses back on, leaving the sedan while holding the mock-up to her chest and a Louis Vuitton purse on her shoulder.

Her high-heeled boots clack on the marble floor as she struts inside the lobby, and one look at the security guard grants her immediate access on the turnstile. This is what she strives for: _efficiency._

Inside the elevator, Regina uses the time it takes to get to the 18th floor to organize the priorities for the day. There’s a phone call to _British Runway,_ check the cover prototype on the Printing Department, revise the photos for the spread at the Storyboard Room,...

_What else?_

Flaring her nostrils, she removes her glasses as the elevator’s doors open swiftly. There’s one thing she’d like to do, but she wonders if it is appropriate.

It does not feel like it is.

“Good morning, Regina,” the receptionist says happily enough.

“Mhmm.” She responds, caught up in her thoughts.

But Emma reached out, two days ago. It’s Regina’s turn, isn’t it?

She follows through the first corridor and Lena is by her side in an instant, notepad in hand, careful to write down the to-do-list she’s relaying on automatic.

Lena pushes open the glass doors. Regina turns to her, “I need the Polaroids from 2A to 5A in twenty minutes.” She sheds her coat and tosses it on the second assistant’s desk (Tracy, Taylor? What’s her name again?), along with her bag.

“Right away,” Lena answers, setting her notes down and scurrying away to do as asked.

Regina does not spare a glance at the second assistant, and walks inside her own office with purpose. There, her latte awaits, as well as her apple and the newspapers and magazines, which she will peruse uninterrupted over the course of twenty minutes.

Sitting on her chair, Regina breathes in sharply through her nose, gripping the chair’s arms as she stares at _The Mirror,_ there innocuously placed on top of every other periodical. She fingers it open, not caring for any other piece except… Emma Swan, there, page 21.

**_WOMEN’S SHELTER THREATENED_ **

Regina reads, and reads, enraptured, and what a sight it must be: her mouth slightly open, coffee grasped on one hand but getting cold by the minute, the corner of her lips turning up without her consent.

A fuzzy feeling makes itself known inside her belly, and her heart feels ten times bigger with pride.

She knew there was more to Emma Swan, and she was _right._

Getting up, Regina lets go of her latte, moving to the threshold of her office. “Lena,” she says to Taylor, who raises her head, and meets her eyes — maybe this one will last, she thinks absently. “No interruptions. Tell Lena I’ll take the Polaroids later. I don’t care if Mr. Gold appears out of thin air, I want silence. That’s all.”

Regina closes the double doors, briefly wondering if this is really a good idea. She shrugs it off — there’s nothing to lose, right?

She internally thanks her son for providing her with Emma’s new e-mail address.

[SQ]

“Pass me the stapler, will you?” Emma hears from her right but can’t acknowledge it.

No, not at all.

Regina has sent her an e-mail. And she doesn’t know if she wants to open it. (Of course she does.)

“Hello? Earth to Emma?”

“Hmm?” Emma slowly raises her eyes, the chatter and buzz emerging again, to find Ruby in front of her desk, who tilts her head, frowning.

Ruby is, ironically enough, the fashion reporter of The Mirror, who had asked to change places with Paul from the sports column to sit closer to one of the only other women of the workplace.

“Is everything… You know what, I’m not going to ask if everything’s alright, you’ll say you’re fine. And you’re not, if you don't mind me saying. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Who is it?”

She is also a pain in the ass sometimes.

“No one,” Emma says, folding her arms in a foolish attempt to appear nonchalant. Ruby stares at her until she caves in. “Fine… I got an e-mail from…” Here she hesitates, because should she reveal this to anyone? Emma clears her throat, glancing once more at the **_Regina Mills_ ** in her inbox. “From someone important. I was caught by surprise, that’s all.” Emma shrugs, but inwardly cringes at her use of Regina’s favorite words.

Ruby arranges her long hair to one shoulder, sighing. “If you say so… Well, I actually just want to borrow this,” she motions to the stapler now in her hand, wiggling her eyebrows, “And now you can go back to your mystery lover.”

Emma shakes herself from her stupor completely. “Wait—No...they’re not…”

But Ruby has already walked back to her desk, clearly having enjoyed teasing Emma, if her smile is anything to go by. Emma cracks her knuckles, mentally preparing herself for what she might find, and then clicks with the noisy mouse button to open the email.

 

 

> **From:** Regina Mills  <reginamills@usrunway.com>
> 
> **To:** Emma Swan  <emmaswan@nymirror.com>
> 
> **Sent:** Tuesday, November 21st, 2006 09:12 AM
> 
> **Subject:** Piece on Page 21
> 
> Acceptable. Although the third and fourth sentences should have been swapped, today’s piece deserves its acknowledgement.
> 
> I hope you don’t mind that I stole your e-mail address from Henry.
> 
>  

Emma blinks.

Slack-jawed, her gaze stays fixed on the computer monitor as she studies the words for one, two, ten minutes perhaps.

She leans back against her chair, rubbing her eyes from staring too much at the screen, certain the e-mail will disappear, nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

She takes a peek again, and… yep, it’s there, the missive is still there! She has no idea what to make of it. The piece was the first one Archie trusted her with that wasn’t a fluffy one or the insufferable obituaries.

On the surface, this doesn’t seem much of a compliment. It doesn’t seem much of anything, in fact.

But Emma knows better, recalling the dinner with her former co-workers, recalling...

This is Regina… reaching out, perhaps? Like she did, a few days ago.

The note is dripping with praise, and it’s baffling — Regina doesn’t offer praise… Certainly not to an ex-employee who wrote a simple thing on page 21 of all pages (she pictures Regina searching for her name inside and the image is disconcerting), an ex-assistant who left her at the end of Paris Fashion Week without her two-week notice or a good resignation note.

Covering her face with her hands, she ponders for a few seconds… what to do now? Is this merely an olive branch? Or is it something else?

In the end, Emma decides, if she’s wrong about this, then she has nothing to lose (mostly nothing, that is).

“Ruby, can you cover for me real quick?” she asks, already getting up, phone in her hand.

“Of course, you’ll owe me one,” Ruby answers, not taking her eyes from the paper she’s reading.

“Fine,” Emma mutters to the empty bathroom once she gets inside. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

She types in Regina’s number with no difficulty at all, and before she can regret it, presses dial.

 _“Yes, for the last time—”_ Regina’s exasperated voice comes through the line, slightly far away, before she asks directly to Emma, _“Who is this?”_

“H-hi. Regina.” She facepalms, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. _Hi? ‘Hi’ is the best I can come up with?_

Regina clears her throat, and Emma hears her say something that sounded a lot like “Carry on,” and then there are no murmurs anymore from wherever the hell Regina was before.

“I… read your e-mail,” Emma provides, anxious from the silence that fell. “And I wanted to thank you, that was… I only got to finish that piece because the writer got ill, but… thank you.”

_“I have to give my compliment when it is due. And I was hoping you might consider… do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?”_

Emma frowns. “Not that I can—”

_“Wonderful. Henry will be glad. Is this your number?”_

Mind reeling, Emma replies to the only thing she somewhat picked up with no problem. “Y-yeah, this is my number.”

_“I’ll send you the details over text, if that’s agreeable to you?”_

“Okay, yeah…” Emma nods jerkily. “Okay.”

_“Talk to you soon.”_

The line clicks and Emma lowers her phone. “Holy shit,” she whispers, surprised.


	6. thanksgiving

Regina moves the hangers around, frowning in displeasure. What she wouldn’t give for a suit right now — they’d make her feel more settled, perhaps. An armor she did not want to give up, but had to.

This was Emma. Emma is not a business partner or a… client, or…

Regina huffs, running a hand through her hair.

Even the words are failing her. Fantastic.

“Fine. You know what, Regina? You’re wearing a sweater and that’s final,” she says resolutely. “Enough of this.”

A few moments later, she’s scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror, biting her lip as she puts her earring on, when Henry calls from somewhere in the house, “Mom? What time does Emma arrive, again?”

She nearly jumps as she recalls the _reason_ she’s feeling so unsettled.

Anxiously brushing a lock of curly hair behind her ear, she’s now shouting to Henry from the threshold of her bedroom (and shouting is not allowed in the house, so she truly _is_ nervous), _“Seven, Henry!”_ which means... roughly two and a half hours from now, she checks on her wristwatch.

Regina rubs her hands together, going back to the mirror. She examines herself again, her eyes skipping from the curly hair she didn’t bother to straighten, to the light cotton cable v-neck sweater and, finally, to the wide-leg black trousers. Her face feels exposed like this, feels soft. Even her lipstick is of a lighter shade of red tonight.

Regina reminds herself this is not a _date_ or anything of the sort. Yes, she did invite Emma for purely selfish reasons, but Henry did want to invite her. And Regina could not say no to her little prince, no matter if her stomach is churning at the thought of making a fool of herself.

[SQ]

Peeling the potatoes soothes her nerves, Regina finds, the paring knife in one hand and a potholder with a potato in the other. Cooking in general is something she very much enjoys doing, but it is rare that she finds the time for it. Hence Thanksgiving, a holiday during which she sets aside any work-related issue and is content to be with her family.

“Henry, could you check the bread?” she asks, watching his concentrated stirring of the vegetables in the skillet next to her. What she loves the most about cooking is the time spent with her son. Regina smiles fondly, recalling when he was six and had his _toque_ and ‘Sous-chef’ apron, chubby cheeks smeared with flour and small hands eager to grab the bread dough and knead it because _Mommy, it’s so soft!_

She blinks, shaking her thoughts away, lest she get emotional now, and watches as he takes a glove and opens the oven, “I think it’s ready. Crispy and yummy,” Henry proclaims. “Do I turn it off?”

“Yes, please, chef Henry,” she replies, putting the last peeled potato back into the pot. “Are the vegetables ready?”

“I think so? Look,” he calls her, and Regina inspects his work.

“Very good, Henry. You can turn it off now.”

“Okay,” he says, doing as asked. “Can you take the bread, Mom?”

Regina puts on her own set of oven gloves and pulls out the large baking sheet, setting it on the countertop.

“Now we can put the turkey in, and let it roast until it’s time for dinner.”

“Great!” She watches from the corner of her eye as he steals a toasted bread while she sets the turkey in the oven.

“Henry, you’ll burn yourself.”

“What?! How did you see that!”

“Your mother knows you,” Regina answers, chuckling. “There’ll be plenty later, dear.”

He crosses his arms, pouting.

“Don’t give me the puppy look,” she warns him.

He continues doing the face, trying his best not to laugh.

“That’s enough,” she says, removing the gloves and lunging at him, showering him with kisses all over his face.

“No!” he laughs, but lets her, because he’s still her affectionate boy, who loves hugs and staying close to her.

“Fine, fine. Now, do you want to mash the potatoes while I finish the dressing?”

“Yeah!”

[SQ]

One hour later, Regina’s about to get the plates from the cupboard when Henry’s scream of delight reaches her ears, at the same time as the doorbell rings. “No running, Henry!”

“Sorry, Mom!” he hollers back.

She grabs one, then two plates, and hesitates for a second before reminding herself the third plate _is not_ for Robin, thankfully. Still, an amused smile plays on her lips. Some things will never change — Henry’s excitement is one of them.

Time to face the music, she supposes, setting the dishes in the dining room. Back in the kitchen, she hangs the apron on a hook haphazardly, and combs her fingers through her hair.

“This way, Emma,” Henry says in the foyer, and Regina meets them halfway through it.

Regina has to remind herself to close her mouth, but for a moment she can only stare at the honey blonde hair and its princess curls, the black turtleneck that hugs Emma’s figure, and the dark skinny jeans; the whole ensemble much better than anything Regina might have expected.

“Hey.” Emma’s voice is warm, a shy grin on her face. “I brought this,” she holds out a bottle of red wine, and Regina takes it without registering she has, in fact, taken it. “I hope it’s a good one? The clerk on the store said so. I hope he was right…” Emma trails off, rubbing her neck self-consciously with one hand.

 _Get a grip, Regina,_ she berates herself, plastering one of her _Runway_ smiles to feel safer. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll go great with the turkey.”

“Mom, is dinner ready?” Henry touches her arm, and Regina’s eyes flicker back to him.

“I was just about to set the table. You should have taken Emma’s coat, though,” she raises one eyebrow, and the twinkle in her eye tells she’s teasing him.

“Oh.” Emma blinks as Henry takes her advice and goes away with her coat, disappearing in the corner of the entrance hall. “This kid impresses me every time, I swear.”

Regina chuckles. “If you don’t mind,” she raises the wine bottle, “I need to check how things are going.”

Emma curls her thumbs in the belt loop of her jeans and nods. “Sure, lead the way.”

Spinning on her heels, Regina goes through the sitting room and straight to the kitchen.

[SQ]

Regina is wearing oven gloves. With little red sewned hearts.

Regina.

Emma’s face must have betrayed her amusement, because the woman in question says, tone flat, “Not a word,” before leaning down to take the turkey out of the oven.

“I didn’t say anything!” she defends herself.

Regina hums, clearly not believing her. “Make yourself useful and serve us some wine, will you? The glasses are in that cabinet,” she nods to them, retreating to the adjoining dining room.

[SQ]

When half past nine rolls around, Henry is already rubbing his eyes tiredly and yawning. Without much protest, Regina tells him to get ready for bed, giving him a kiss on his forehead and a _Goodnight, my little prince,_ which makes him blush but he still hugs her tight before giving Emma one of his warm hugs as well.

Emma follows Regina to the door on the right of the entrance, the room where she had heard Regina and Robin arguing. She winces slightly as she recalls what was the follow-up for _that._ Seeing Regina angry is not an experience she’d want to repeat.

(Well, not anger directed at her, per se. Because she looks so damn hot while angry, Emma has to admit.)

She looks around the study as Regina walks over to the drinks cabinet, taking in the warm, rich tones of the mahogany wood that covers the walls (all lined with full bookshelves, the occasional knick-knack or photograph breaking up the rows and rows of books), the unlit fireplace and the _Runway_ magazines that don’t match at all with the décor, but are special in their own right, filling an entire shelf from top to bottom.

She spots a framed picture in black and white of Regina grinning from ear to ear, a baby Henry on her lap and a guy she doesn’t recognize (Henry’s father?), but before she can take a closer look Regina speaks, and she decides it’s better not to snoop.

“Thank you again for coming,” Regina says, pouring out two glasses of scotch. She takes a deep breath, and Emma wonders if Regina’s even remotely nervous as she is. “Henry was talking about it nonstop ever since I told him you had agreed.”

Emma, perching on the edge of the couch closest to the fireplace, nods and smiles. “I don’t think I had much of a choice.” She gives Regina a pointed look, who hands her a glass with an unreadable expression.

And Emma must be imagining the slight blush on Regina’s cheeks, right?

“But really, thanks for inviting me,” she continues. “I’d probably be able to join in my friend’s dinner, but I’d be the third wheel there.” Emma shakes her head. “I really do appreciate it. And I think I said it before, but dinner was delicious.” She sips her drink.

Regina chuckles and it does things to Emma, the low throaty laugh wrapping around her like a warm blanket. But that could be the food in her system or the alcohol too, Emma reminds herself. Regina sits down on the sofa opposite her, and it all seems so intimate like this, the close quarters, the nightcap, the way Emma _can’t stop staring_ at Regina because _god, she’s so beautiful._

“I’ll prepare a tupperware for you later. There's too much for myself and Henry.”

 _This woman._ “I was going to be polite and decline, but I shouldn't pass up on the opportunity of more mashed potatoes.”

“You really shouldn't,” Regina answers with a small smile and takes a sip of her scotch.

They stand there in comfortable silence for a few moments, eyeing each other over the rim of their glasses.

“You know, that was quite the surprise the other day,” Regina comments.

Emma’s brain attempts to process what she might be talking about, but she comes up empty-handed. “Hmm?”

“The coffee and the flowers?” Regina says, and Emma’s mouth gets dry all of a sudden, despite the drink she’s just sipped. They’re going _there,_ is that it? “Pink carnations.”

“Oh. I hope it was to your liking,” Emma says nonchalantly, testing the waters. Did Regina know the meaning she intended for that?

“They were beautiful... It’s a shame it had to be a hurried thing.” Regina nods, that small smile still at the corner of her lips, and Emma is transfixed by it. “Also, it does make me wonder why I bother with another assistant when—” Regina trails off so suddenly, and oh, Emma’s heart cracks when the smile falls completely from her face in one swoop. Regina wasn’t meaning anything by her comment, it seems. But she had forgotten that simple detail. Emma _was_ her assistant once.

They haven’t talked about this, they haven’t touched the Paris subject yet.

“Regina, I…” she tries, setting down her glass on the coaster in front of her. Regina copies her movement. The atmosphere doesn’t feel calm anymore, an underlying tension nearly drowning them both.

It’s hard to look in Regina’s eyes without telling her everything, without telling the things she’s realized.

It will be impossible for them to move forward if—

“You have _no_ idea the troubles you caused with your departure.” Regina’s voice is hoarse and thick with an emotion Emma can’t identify as she says so. “You did not even let anyone _know_ . You turned your back on m— _Runway_ without a second thought.”

Emma lowers her head, not able to stare at Regina’s eyes anymore in fear of what she might find there. “I _know._ And I’m terribly sorry about _that_ . About the _way_ I left. But I couldn’t—” _Face everything,_ is what she wants to say, but her voice breaks and she doesn’t continue.

“Couldn’t what? Admit we are alike? Am I that horrible?” Regina asks, her shoulders back, her position so utterly perfect and straight and tense Emma has the sudden urge to hug her. But then Regina’s words register and Emma’s shaking her head profusely.

“No, no, I…” She sighs, running a hand through her hair in exasperation. The corner of her lips downturned, Emma ponders how to explain it? How to… Should she...

Apparently she takes too much time, because her lack of a good explanation tells Regina the opposite of what she wants. “I see…” Her expression closes off so suddenly that Emma shivers. “Well, I shouldn’t be taking this as a new predicament. You _are_ my biggest disappointment, after all. Please close the door when you leave. That’s all.”

“Oh, no, you don’t get to—” Emma gets up as Regina does. “You don’t get to push me away as you tried to that night. You wanna know why I left? Fine. I’ll tell you why.” Her lips trembling, Emma decides to be brave for once. “It hurt, okay? You could’ve told me what you were doing to Jefferson. Heck, you could’ve told _him._ I tried warning you, you know?” Emma’s on a roll, she keeps spouting words as they come. She’ll look back at this and shudder at her inability to finish one thought before starting another. “Killian called me. He told me about the plan. And not for one second did I waver. I _knew_ I had to tell you. But you already knew. You told me as much—”

“I don’t see why—”

“And then,” Emma raises a finger, “then you pointed out that what you did to Jefferson was not any different from what I did to Lena. You were going to fire me if I didn’t go to Paris, Regina. You ambushed me.”

Emma pauses and puts her hair behind her ears. Gathering her thoughts, she looks Regina right in the eye, who hasn’t moved an inch since Emma began, and continues at last.

“But I had a choice, and I chose to stay. I was postponing telling Lena about it, and there was a part of me that felt so much _relief_ when she couldn’t go either way. And that’s fucked up,” she says, mouth downturned.

“So you do feel like I’m a terrible person.” Regina concludes.

“No, that’s not it. I was afraid, I know that now. I was afraid. I made a decision for myself, after not having a choice for so long… I couldn’t stay. You know that.”

Regina looks away, arms crossed against her chest.

“Look, the way you treated Jefferson was shitty. And I’ve seen _you._ You’re not this person.”

The silence that falls is aggravatingly loud to her ears as they stand on opposite sides of the coffee table, and for a moment Emma wonders if it’ll always be like this for them: a metaphorical barrier between them no matter where they are.

Regina sighs. “I don't suffer fools, Emma. I’m always striving for the best of the magazine, and that means I cannot take errors lightly. They don’t call me the Evil Queen for nothing,” she chuckles, and it makes Emma uneasy, because this is not the beautiful laugh from earlier, this is humorless and dejected and sad. “So I thought I could deal with the situation alone. And that was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

Emma’s brow furrows, but she nods in assent, taking the courage to meet Regina’s gaze again. Where is she going with this?

“You were the one that taught me I should not judge people so easily. You came back, time and time again, conquering each and every challenge hurled at your way. And you wanted to be there for me, when no one else would. I’m... _sorry,_ Emma. I truly am.”

Is this really happening? Emma gives Regina a soft smile, touched by her honesty.

“What I’m trying to say is…”

Regina goes around the table and suddenly they aren't on opposite sides anymore.

Emma’s heart makes its way to her throat, though she manages to squeak out, “...Is?”

They are close. And unlike other times where she believed it to be a figment of her imagination, there’s no mistaking it this time: Regina’s gaze does fall on Emma’s lips for a beat (or two, or three) when Emma licks them.

Regina doesn’t answer. But it happens so fast her brain short circuits for a second: Regina grabs her by her turtleneck and presses their mouths together.

Despite the way she pulls her forward, Regina’s kiss is gentle and uncertain; Emma fails to respond, her eyes going wide, heart hammering in her chest. There’s even time for her to start internally screaming, _oh my god, oh my god, she’s kissing me, is this really happening?_ and, even though the electric feeling of Regina’s mouth against hers courses through her veins from head to toe, she fails to respond, positive she is dreaming, even if her eyes flicker closed.

There’s a pause, a pause where Regina stops moving her lips but doesn’t let go; instead, she raises a trembling hand to touch the side of Emma’s face, a touch barely there and yet, a burning sensation fills her nerves when Regina doesn’t let go. And Emma stays still, heart lodged on her throat, her head running at one hundred miles per hour and her heart beating so fast she’s sure Regina can hear it. But she feels like a newborn calf, her body not cooperating with her mind for a few brief seconds. She’s terrified, to be honest.

What if Regina realizes this is a mistake? What if she blames the alcohol and remembers she’s kissing _Emma_ of all people, a lowkey reporter from _The Mirror_ who once left her when she needed her the most?

And her worries would have been okay if she was alone, if Regina hadn’t started to pull away, her face flushed and pinched with uncertainty thanks to Emma’s stupidity, biting her bottom lip. “I apol—”

Emma doesn't allow Regina to finish her apology, reaching up to slide one hand through Regina’s hair, putting a lock behind her ear and hearing the hitch in her breath. She stares a few seconds into Regina’s brown eyes, still glazed with uncertainty but now filled with… should Emma dare to dream that they are filled with hope?

The air is heavy and thick and electric again, and Emma cups Regina’s cheekbones before pulling her mouth back towards her own. Emma’s eyes flicker closed, and her lips tentatively caress Regina’s, and it’s like nothing else exists in the world. It’s like they were made for each other, as cliché as that sounds in her head. The worry that was brimming to the surface is put on the back-burner. And there’s just them, and the small room inside this big house. Just them. Everything is forgotten and feels unimportant right now.

Regina makes a sound when Emma licks her bottom lip, and her tongue finds hers and now it’s like they can't have enough of each other, wanton and desperate. Emma moans too, caressing Regina’s ears with her thumbs as she buries her hands in Regina’s soft curls, her lips greedily meeting hers again and again. And oh my god, she’s still not over the fact that she is, for all intents and purposes, making out with Regina Mills.

Regina moves her hands from the front of Emma’s turtleneck to her shoulders, then slowly down her arms until she’s trailed around her waist to bring them closer together, encasing Emma’s back. Their chests press together, their mouths never separating, and a shiver travels along her spine when Regina splays her fingers across her shoulder blades.

It’s when the necessity for air becomes too hard to ignore that Emma breaks from Regina’s mouth with a few more brief kisses, leaning her forehead to hers as they catch their breath.

“Wow, you said something alright,” Emma whispers, chuckling softly as she looks into Regina’s sparkling eyes, and she’s sure the wonder and heat and giddiness she finds there are mirrored on her own.

Regina mock-glares, her lips curling up despite herself. “Oh, shut up.”

“Make me,” Emma challenges.

“Gladly.” Regina answers, pulling her to another kiss, making Emma dizzy with the passion Regina brings forth. Emma can’t help kissing her back just as affectionately, unable to stop herself from brushing her fingers on Regina’s neck, feeling the goosebumps she raises there. If she had any doubt of the effect she’s having on Regina, that does it.


	7. page six and hangovers

**December 2006**

2:45 pm, Regina sees on her wristwatch. She is fifteen minutes early for the first divorce meeting she and Robin will be face to face for.

“I’ve spoken with Mr. Scarlet,” Baron Samdi, her lawyer, is saying as he leads her inside the conference room, the enormous polished table surrounded by plush, comfortable chairs. “I’m fairly certain Robin will compromise and we’ll reach a resolution of terms today.”

Regina scoffs. “This is Robin we’re talking about,” she says, and removes her coat, handing it to Samdi, along with her bag. “He’s just as stubborn as I am, perhaps even more.”

She chooses the seat at the right side of the table, the furthest from the center, sits herself in the chair and watches as Mr. Samdi hangs her coat on a coat rack by the door, her bag next to it carefully placed on the carpet.

Samdi chuckles. “Whilst that may be true, Regina, you’ve sent me a copy of the letter.” Yes, the letter. The gracious letter he left for her together with the divorce papers in Paris. “The pre-nuptials will grant him nothing to what he’s admitted doing.”

“You better hope you are right.” Regina says with a monotonous tone, drumming her fingers against the arm of the chair as she stares at nothing in particular. The burgundy of the walls would appeal to her if this were any other day. But this is a divorce meeting, not a way to gauge a potential designer’s taste from their décor.

“I’ve got a few matters to take care of before our meeting starts. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Regina sighs, massaging her temples. “Could you get my bag? My head is pounding and we haven’t even started.”

He picks it up from the floor and holds it out for her. “If that will be all, I’ll be back shortly.”

Regina hums in affirmation and he takes his leave. Opening her favorite Prada bag, she rummages inside until she finds her aspirin. She gets up and serves water from the pitcher on the counter.

“...I don't care, Will.” A voice sounds down the hallway, and what she picks up from the conversation… well, she knows exactly to whom it belongs.

Regina washes down the pill with her water, setting the glass inside the sink. It’s then that Robin and his attorney enter the room, followed by her lawyer.

“Mhmm. Well, take a seat, gentlemen,” Samdi gestures to the seats across the table.

“Ms. Mills,” says Mr. Scarlet once they’ve all sat down. Regina resists the urge to purse her lips in annoyance, merely raising an eyebrow at him.

“Robin,” she says instead, her tone neutral.

“Regina,” he says as if he had deigned to reply, a bored expression on his face.

And it is obvious he wishes to get on her nerves, wishes to see her lose her composure. Alternatively, she presses her lips together and glares at him without saying another word. He tries to manage her gaze, but gives up after ten seconds or so. Regina’s lip twitches in amusement. _Weak._

She once married this man to avoid any complications in her rise to the top, per Mother’s wishes. After all, _Regina, if you really must continue with this fashion nonsense, you need the perfect family to support your decisions. They will not take you seriously if you do not have a stable relationship._

“Will?” Robin prompts, looking at his attorney under the pretense of asking him the question, while Regina _knows_ it’s to avoid her eyes.

_Remind me again why I married you?_

“Right... I see no reason for us not to start.” Will Scarlet says, getting his briefcase, and there’s that.

[SQ]

By the end of the meeting, Regina’s headache has come back with a vengeance, and she clenches her hand into a fist to refrain from pinching the bridge of her nose as their lawyers explain what to sign and where to sign.

One. Year. Starting from October, the month she essentially stopped living together with him, they have to stay one year separated.

They make all the necessary provisions and Regina leaves the building with the promise of getting in touch with Samdi to make sure everything is running smoothly. There will be papers to sign and meetings to schedule and etcetera etcetera.

Her phone starts ringing as soon as she gets inside the town car. She answers it. _“Regina. Hi.”_

Even though they hadn’t found the time to see each other again after their... kiss (—kisses), they had spent a lot of time talking on the phone when possible. Regina presses the button to slide the partition screen up, and turns her gaze to the window. “Emma.” Her mouth curves up into a small smile, and the worry lines on her forehead smooth over. Emma has this power. “To what do I owe the _pleasure?”_

It has the intended effect, because Emma barks a laugh. _“You are terrible, Regina Mills.”_

“Yes, yes, been there, done that,” she says with a chuckle.

Emma chuckles with her for few moments. _“Um…”_ she shifts the conversation to more serious matters, _“did everything go alright, with… you know…um… the meeting?”_

“Yes,” Regina sighs, remembering the reason for her bad mood. “Yes.”

_“Huh. That didn’t sound ‘alright’ to me.”_

“It’s just that… One year, Emma. It’s one year before the divorce is final.”

_“Oh, right. I forgot about that… the Separation Agreement, right?”_

Regina frowns. “How do you—”

_“I studied at law school for a few months.”_

“Well, well, aren’t you full of surprises, Miss Swan,” Regina says, trying to change the subject.

_“Oh my god. Did you really just call me that?”_

Smirking, Regina fiddles with her necklace using the hand not holding her phone. “I did, Miss Swan.”

_“Really, Regina? You wanna kill me here?”_

“What’s that?” she asks, pausing a little, a huge smile on her face, before, “...Miss Swan?”

Emma laughs. “Stop it!”

[SQ]

It’s two days later when it comes out. Her PR team alerted her the previous morning that she should be careful from this point on, because while they would do their best to diminish the press and media in general, the first few days would be rough.

Sure enough, outside Elias-Clarke there are at least ten men who do not understand the meaning of personal space and try to get an answer over Robin and the divorce. The security guards of the building accompany her inside, making a human barrier. She does not remove her sunglasses until she’s sure none of them will get a good picture of her face.

Inside her own office, Regina allows herself to take a seat on the couch, a hand covering her face as she sighs, as she ponders whether it’s a good idea to open _The New York Post_ and see whatever they have written about her.

Mentally counting until ten, she gets up and goes behind her desk. There’s an article she must correct as soon as her time of reviewing periodicals and newspapers is done. No time to waste.

She picks _The Post_ from the assembled newspapers despite knowing she will not enjoy what is written inside. She shouldn’t read it, honestly.

That’s the first rule when you’re a well-known celebrity. Don’t read—

Her fingernail has opened to _Page Six_ before she can finish the thought.

—the gossip rags.

**_Robin Mills or will it be ‘Locksley’ now? The Evil Queen scared Mr Mills away._ **

_A little bird has told us it’s oficial: Robin is divorcing Regina Mills, notorious Editor in Chief of Runway magazine! Oh la la, talk about guts! Our speculation last month wasn’t unfounded. After a marriage that surprisingly lasted four years (and let’s face it: that has to break a record on the Celebrities Book), Robin Mills has had enough—_

In a move not at all characteristic of her while being at work, with a swift swipe of her hand Regina throws the paper to the floor, the pages scattering around and doing nothing to assuage her nerves.

She swivels in her chair to face the window, supporting her elbows on the armrests and steepling her fingers to her mouth. Regina closes her eyes slowly, breathing sharply through her nose.

This is not the time to have a breakdown. She’s not at home. She’s at _Runway._ She’s Regina Mills, editor-in-chief.

Victoria will take care of it. She’ll be kept ahead of developments.

Regina lowers her hands, turning her chair again. Latte in hand, she ignores the mess to her right and fixes her gaze upon _The Mirror,_ sips her coffee and goes in search of something written by Emma.

_Emma._

It’s like the name has electrocuted her, for she jolts and nearly spills and burns herself with her searing hot coffee when she makes the connection between Page Six and Emma Swan and the implication of being seen together _now._

If Regina was not in the office, she would scream. She would throw everything on the floor and she would allow herself, just for a few moments, to fall apart.

Unfortunately, Regina is not alone. So she swallows the coffee scorching her tongue and concentrates on that brief pain to halt her line of thought, trying against all might to forget about green sparkly eyes, trying not to imagine them watering when Regina breaks the news, trying—

“Lena,” she calls. Interrupts herself, lest she fall on that trap again. And when Lena gets inside her office, sparing only a glance to the newspaper to the floor, Regina continues, “Find some time for my masseuse. Preferably this afternoon.”

“Would two-thirty be—”

“Yes, fine,” says Regina with dismissive hand.

“What should we say if the phones—”

“Nothing. No comment. Transfer the calls to the PR Team, for all I care. That’s all.”

[SQ]

“Emma, did you read the latest gossip?”

“Hmm?” Emma takes her eyes away from her reading, looking to her left to Ruby. “You know I haven’t,” she answers, twirling her pen on her fingers.

“Regina Mills is getting a divorce!” Ruby says excitedly. “It was on Page Six today.”

Emma doesn’t allow her expression to change, though her hands clench for a second. “Really,” she asks, feigning disinterest.

Ruby nods, fiddling with her hair, eyes glowing in her excitement.

Emma smiles tightly. “Good for her.”

“Yes, yes. I don’t know why she was with him.”

Letting her pen fall on her desk, Emma loosens up by rolling her stiff shoulders. “Oh, for a second there I thought you were going to bad-mouth her. Sorry.”

“Really, Emma? Never. We girls must stick together. I met him once in an event with my partner and let me tell you, that guy is _dull._ I think I yawned at least three times before I was able to excuse myself.”

Emma laughs, eyebrows raising. “God. He is. You have no idea what—”

“Wait, what? You know him?”

“N-no, what?” Emma gives a nervous laugh, flexing her fingers on her knees. “I meant… I bet he is. I haven’t met him.”

Ruby grabs her arm and squeals, and Emma winces, glancing around to check if any of their co-workers have picked up on their conversation. No, coast is clear — they don’t care, busy with their assignments.

In her excitement she had momentarily forgotten she hasn’t exactly told Ruby she used to work for _Runway._ It hadn’t come up, few people here know and fewer still care. And, in Emma’s defense, she totally thought Ruby was another hater.

“You’re lying, I know you are. How do you know him?” Ruby hisses, finally sensing this wasn’t something to be gabbing about at the office.

“I worked for _Runway,_ okay? And that’s all I’m saying.”

Eyes widening, Ruby shakes the arm still in her grasp. “I knew it, I knew that bag of yours wasn’t fake! You know what I’m talking about when I complain about my shit. Fuck you, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry!” Emma says with a laugh. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“Pfft, right. When do you finish here?” Ruby asks.

Emma frowns at the non-sequitur. “At seven—what does that—?”

“We’re going to a bar. And then you’re telling me everything.”

[SQ]

Emma stumbles into her kitchen with narrowed eyes, resting a hand on the threshold as she waits for the feeling of ten massive elephants bouncing on her head to give her a reprieve.

“Morning!” Ruby says, holding out a mug of freshly-brewed coffee. “I think you’re gonna need this.”

“No shit, Sherlock. How are you even standing?” Emma gestures at her with the hand not holding the coffee, taking a seat at the small table. She tells Ruby to join her.

“You know, I have no idea. It’s always been like this. I barely get a headache. Nothing a cup of coffee can’t fix.” Ruby shrugs, grimacing when she takes a sip. “This tastes like… I don’t know, but it’s awful.”

“Gee, thanks,” Emma rolls her eyes. “I let you crash in here and that’s how you express your gratitude? I’m wounded.”

“Oh, shut up, you know that I’m right. But thank you. Even though you drank a helluva lot more than I did, Swan. You’re the one who needed to crash.”

Emma cringes. “I can’t believe you dragged me around SoHo. That’s expensive as hell, Ruby.”

“Emma.” Ruby lets go of her mug with a _clang_ against the wooden table. “You needed that 12 dollar sandwich. You _needed_ it. After you spilled your guts on that first bar, you were whining like a baby about how you missed Regina’s lips and so I paid for your sandwich. See? I’m a great friend. I won’t even ask for a refund.”

Emma hastily sets her mug down, some of the liquid spilling on the table as she gets up, mouth opening and closing, stuttering, “W-what? What? What did you just say?” she asks, attempting to run a hand through her matted hair, but her hands drop to her sides once that becomes futile.

“Whoa, whoa, are you going to puke? Calm down, Emma, sit, sit!” Ruby grabs her by her shoulders and drags her to the couch in the living room.

Emma covers her face with her hands. _Oh my god, I’m so stupid._ “Sorry, sorry. I’m fine. Last night is kind of a blur to me. What did I say?”

Ruby jostles her slightly when she falls unceremoniously next to her on the couch. She sighs. “You told me about... Regina. And Harry? No, that’s not his name,” Ruby frowns, and Emma is too preoccupied to correct her. “There was something about Paris? That I didn’t catch because you weren’t making any sense anymore. But if you’re wondering, then yeah, you told me you have feelings for her.”

Emma folds her arms against her chest and looks away, focusing on the sound of a car honk on the street outside the apartment.

“Hey.” Ruby places a hand on her thigh to call her attention. “It’s fine. You know that, right?”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“Emma, last night I declared we’re BFF’s. Your secrets are safe with me.” Ruby grins, patting her thigh. “Now I want _details,_ gimme gimme.”

[SQ]

It’s been a long Monday, and all Emma wants to do is dive head first on her couch, maybe order a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and watch a few episodes of Friends before eventually nodding off.

She fishes for her keys inside her messenger bags as she goes up the stairs to get to her apartment. Thank god she doesn’t live in any of the upper floors, because if climbing only two flights of stairs used to leave her in pain during _Runway’s_ days, Emma wouldn’t want to imagine what more would have done to her; she used to walk around in heels all day and her legs and feet would be aching terribly by the time she got home.

Reaching the second floor, Emma stops in her tracks once she looks up from her feet and finds… “Regina?” she asks, thrown for a loop. “What are you doing here?” She shakes her head. “Not that I mind, but—”

“Emma, I…” Regina starts, her hands inside her great coat pockets, her expression pinched in worry, “we need to talk. May I come in?”

Emma blinks, wondering if anything good can come from those words. _We need to talk._ “Right, of course.”


	8. conversations

They are silent as Emma somehow manages to fit the key inside the lock despite her nerves, opening the door and motioning with her head for Regina to follow her. “Come on in.”

She watches as Regina looks around, her heels clacking against the floor and somewhat soothing Emma’s nerves, the sound familiar to her. Emma clicks the door shut.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?”

Regina turns to her, hair fluttering around her shoulders, eyebrows raised to her forehead as if to say ‘Are you really going to make me talk?’. She slumps slightly, heaving a sigh. “I imagine you have read Page Six recently?”

Emma nods. “Yeah, yeah,” she breathes. “Why?”

“Then you know... Um.” Regina clears her throat. “Then you know things are going to get much more complicated as the process moves on. I...." Regina takes out a gloved hand from her pocket, brushing away a stray lock of hair from her cheek. It seems as though Regina’s arms are creating a barrier across her chest against the inner turmoil she's experiencing. “We… It’s for the best if we don’t see much of each other in public for the next… months.” Regina's voice is soft, hitching on the word _months_ as though just thinking about it makes her want to cry. “I can't do this to you, Emma. I can't throw your career away because of those tabloids and gossip rags. It's bad enough for Henry, I can't, I can't—”

“Hey, hey…” Emma whispers, grasping Regina on her upper arms. She does her best to catch Regina's eyes. “It's okay,” she says, nodding several times as she tries to convince herself of this, as she tries valiantly to blink away her tears, the corners of her mouth downturned.

Regina exhales a shuddering breath, wrapping her arms around Emma and laying her head on her shoulder. Emma hugs her back, leaning her own head against Regina’s, embracing her tight. They stay like that for a while, swaying gently back and forth, like they were privy to a song the rest of the world would never be able to listen to.

“Is this... is this a goodbye?” Emma asks hesitantly, breaking the silence.

Regina takes a step back, looking right into Emma's eyes when she says, “No, at least.... I don't want it to be. I'd rather we talked about this and.... I don't want a repeat of what happened in Paris, because that surely felt like one.”

“Alright. Alright, um... Come here, the couch might be more comfortable.”

And so they talk. They sit huddled on the couch, Regina’s head on Emma’s shoulder as she runs a hand through Regina's hair.

Regina tells her in length what the divorce means, about the year she has to wait before it is finalized. How she could counter Robin’s request with... with infidelity, she adds in a whisper and Emma has to do her best to continue brushing Regina’s hair and not get up to find and throttle Robin. Because how could he? How could he do this to Regina?

She knows Regina. She knows she’s much more than what the columns write about her. She knows that Regina loves Henry with all her heart, and would give up everything for him. She’s beautiful. Emma wishes she had the time to write poetry like she did during college, because maybe then she would capture better what she feels for Regina.

She may have taken her sweet time to realize her feelings, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Emma would do anything for her, and that includes waiting ten months so they can finally be seen in public and have a relationship without any interference.

They stay silent for a while, processing what’s happening next.

But then something clicks, and she remembers her mom’s phone call this morning on her way to work. “Hey,” she starts, placing a kiss on Regina’s head. “What are your plans for Christmas?”

“What?” Regina chuckles, raising her head from her shoulder, genuinely confused.

“I know that popped up out of nowhere, but…”

“It's good we can agree on that, dear,” she says, lifting an eyebrow.

“Mhmm. So?” Emma prompts, eager to get to her point.

“I'm not sure? I’d usually leave it to Robin, sometimes he’d want to travel to his parents’ house in England,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “Why?”

“Do you take vacation through the entire holidays?”

“Yes, starting on the 22nd— Why are you—”

“Come with me. You and Henry.”

Regina shakes her head, “I’m sorry, what? What are you...Emma. You’re not making any sense.”

“Storybrooke, my hometown. Come with me and stay until the New Year!” Emma says excitedly, taking Regina’s hands in hers. “Nobody will know, right? Not if... Not if we make it a road trip. I think.” Her eyebrows furrow. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Regina gives her a peck on the lips and stares her seriously as she withdraws. “Are you… are you sure, Emma?”

Emma busies herself with a lock of Regina’s hair, biting her lip. “Yeah, I.... This may seem too soon, sorry. But I don't know when we’ll get to see each other frequently afterwards.” She pushes it back behind Regina’s ear, who blinks several times in contentment. “So this idea came up to me now.”

“Meeting the parents…” Regina says slowly. “Are you really sure? Isn’t this too fast? Too soon?”

“Does it feel like that to you?”

“No, no, it—it feels...perfect.”

Her soft smile has Emma kissing her soundly, because damn it, Regina is adorable, and nothing can convince her otherwise! And they tumble backwards on the couch with laughter, their melancholy pushed aside for the time being.

[SQ]

Regina pulls out the tart pan from the oven, setting it on the countertop. She stares at it for a second, drumming her fingers on the granite surface, working out possible outcomes for the conversation that needs to take place.

Well, she should not be delaying the inevitable.

“Henry? Could you come here for a second?” Regina asks, raising her voice.

“Sure, what is it, Mom?” Henry skids into the kitchen wearing his socks, and Regina gives him a disapproving look, to which he flashes her a toothy smile and shrugs his shoulders, but then he sees... “Is that—”

“Apple tart, yes,” Regina answers, already cutting a piece for him.

“Awesome!” He fist pumps the air, and Regina shakes her head. “Wait…” he starts slowly, “you only make those when there’s a special occasion…” he trails off.

Regina reaches up on the cupboard and gets two plates, while Henry grabs two forks in the drawer. “Hmm. You caught me.” She serves him a slice. “Yes, there’s something important I’d like to go over with you.”

“So,” Henry asks, “what is it?” He forks a small piece of apple tart into his mouth.

Regina admits she spent the better part of the day trying to figure out how to tell him about her relationship with Emma. Even she didn’t know herself what they were, to be honest. She debated in her mind for hours, until she’d thought about it so much that only worst case scenarios were the outcome. It was then she realized she was taking things a bit too far.

She takes a bite of her own slice, giving a moment to enjoy the sweet flavor of the pastry. “I’m seeing someone,” Regina says as soon as she has swallowed; better to do it quickly than not do it at all.

Henry’s eyebrows go up to his hairline, but he doesn’t say anything, munching on his apple tart and looking expectantly at her.

“And I won’t see them anymore if it bothers you or you don’t feel comfortable, or—”

Henry lets go of his fork with a _clink_ against the plate. “Mom. Who is he?”

She puts her cutlery down, staring at it like it would suddenly start talking for her. Shaking her head at her silliness, she says, “Actually, it’s not a _he,_ sweetheart. It’s—it’s a woman.”

Her heart starts racing so much she briefly wonders if she’s going to faint. This is the first time she has told anyone about it.

“Oh,” Henry says.

Regina cuts another bite with her fork, letting him process the information.

“Uh… who is she, then?” he finally asks.

“It’s… Emma,” she reveals quietly.

 _“Really?”_ he asks, mouth open, and Regina can’t figure out if he’s merely surprised or if there’s something else lurking beneath the surface.

She nods, holding an arm against her fluttery stomach.

There’s a pause, and then…

“Awesome!” he proclaims loudly, causing her to jump slightly at his excitement. There’s a huge smile overtaking his features, and Regina feels one of her own tug at her lips.

“Come here,” she gestures with her arms, her eyes sparkling with tears.

He hugs her tight — she almost loses her balance before righting herself. Regina buries her face on his hair, and it’s no use holding back, for she starts crying almost immediately,  holding him against her and never wanting to let go.

“Mom!” Henry says, moving his head to look at her directly. “Don’t cry, it’s okay!”

A feeling of weightlessness overcomes her, and a sob claws its way out of her throat, but she’s laughing at the same time, and more tears fall down, “I-I’m s-s—” she attempts to say, but it comes out as a bunch of half-intelligible words.

“I love you, Mom.” Henry squeezes her again, his perceptive nature realizing she needs a moment.

Regina takes deep breaths, eventually calming down. “I’m sorry,” she says, distancing herself from him before brushing away her tears. “I’m just… happy, Henry. You have no idea.”

“It’s okay, I’m happy too.” He shrugs, grinning. “And you look like a panda.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “I’m glad you find that amusing.” She narrows her eyes playfully.

He takes a bite of his pastry, munching on it as he smiles.

“Oh,” Regina remembers, sniffling. Her face must be a mess. “There’s something else. We’re traveling this year, for the holidays.”

“Where?”

She smiles, knowing what his response is going to be. “Storybrooke, Maine. With Emma.”

“Mom!” He drops his fork in his excitement. “You’re the best ever!”


	9. welcome to storybrooke

Emma presses the doorbell and takes a step back, hands inside her coat’s pockets. She rocks back and forth on her feet, trying to brush off the cold without much success. Thank god they'll be in a car for the next five hours or so, pit stops notwithstanding.

The door opens and she’s not surprised to see Henry and his megawatt smile as he ushers her in.

“We’re really going to Maine!” He hugs her so fast there’s no time to return it, already saying, “Thank you so much for inviting us, Emma. Mom will be down in a minute, I think she was double-checking my things.”

Emma blinks, processing the information.

_How is it possible to have this much energy in the morning?_

“Hey, it's fine,” she tells him, “I got here earlier anyways.” Regina said 7:00, which means 6:45.

 _“Emma? Is that you?”_ she hears from somewhere above. _“Could you help me bring these down, dear?”_

Emma is sure she will combust one of these days — Regina calling her _dear_ messes with her. And Regina doubtlessly is aware of this fact.

“Mom’s upstairs,” Henry provides, pulling her by her arm through the entry foyer. “I’m gonna finish my breakfast. You get to help her.” Sneaky kid.

She goes up to the second floor, where Regina is dragging a large Louis Vuitton suitcase through the corridor, in her direction. Emma gapes, her mouth imitating a fish, because damn, Regina can rock any look. Her gaze drops, taking in the ink-colored sheath dress, legs encased in black opaque stockings and knee-high suede black boots. “Goodness, Regina. You’re trying to kill me, right?”

“Alexander Wang, in case you were wondering,” Regina answers in a teasing tone, a smirk on the edge of her lips as she seemingly _glides_ forward to where Emma has frozen. There’s a slit! There’s a slit where the exposed zip detailing ends. _Fuck. I’m dead._

_And what a way to go._

“Earth to Emma?” Regina purrs, her hand trailing up Emma’s jacket-clad arm. If she didn't know any better, Emma would say she’s melting on the spot.

“Right, right. Hi,” Emma whispers, coming out of her trance. Regina’s face is now centimeters away, and staring into her sparkling eyes, Emma is only able to think, _She's gonna be the death of me_ when the light catches them and the specks of gold in Regina’s irises become visible.

Then, Regina moves forward, kissing her soundly on the lips. Emma deepens it, giving in to the sensation. There are a few more pecks before Emma’s kissing her on the cheek and taking a step back.

“Hello,” Regina says. Her voice is low and sultry, and Emma swallows, kind of relishing in the way Regina’s eyes have darkened from their brief make-out session.

“Hi,” Emma says again, a smile blooming on her features. “L-let me help you with that.” She motions to the luggage, changing the subject lest she do something she should not be doing right now. “Do you have another bag?”

Regina gives her a look that tells her she knows exactly what just happened, but passes over the suitcase handle to her. “Yes, but I can manage the other one.” She waves her arm dismissively. “Henry’s is upstairs, though.”

“I’ll get it after.” Emma pushes the suitcase until she reaches the foot of the stairs, then attempts to lift it. She almost drops the whole thing down the stairs when she realizes just how heavy it is. “Jesus, Regina. Are you sure you packed everything? I think I saw a brick outside that you missed.”

Henry laughs from the foot of the stairs, quite content at watching her misery. “Good luck, Emma!”

“Better to be on the safe side, we _are_ spending twelve days there, after all.”

Emma grunts, rolling her eyes as she starts going down the steps, one by one. “Right. How could I forget? Silly me,” she grumbles under her breath.

“What was that, dear? I couldn’t hear you!”

Eyes wide, Emma answers hastily, “Nothing!” _How does she do that?_

[SQ]

Before they leave the house, Regina opens the door to the closet and takes out a long black trench coat (which Emma had never seen before in all the months she worked for _Runway,_ and believe her, she’s seen _lots_ of coats). When Emma comments on this fact, Regina answers, “Someone’s been paying attention to detail,” with one of those pearly-teeth smiles, eyes sparkling with mirth.

Henry completes, “Emma, there’s always new clothes arriving home. Mom’s closet is huge,” and Emma shivers because she briefly imagines what the closet must look like, and, by association, how Regina’s _bedroom_ must look like.

She hopes she can find out one day.

[SQ]

Emma now hoists her suitcase into the trunk and moves back to inspect her work — the trunk is large enough to fit everything, thankfully, even if Regina totally went overboard with her packing.

“Hen, can you bring it over here?” she asks, motioning to the Louis Vuitton bag. “Is that the last one?”

“Yup! Mom put your backpack in the backseat,” he answers, pushing the luggage forward.

“Great.” Emma’s muscles are already protesting, too much strain this early in the morning. She maneuvers the suitcase inside with a sigh of relief.

Regina returns to the garage, having gone back inside the house to ensure everything was in place before locking the doors and setting the security system on.

They go over Regina’s checklist again, making sure everything’s checked (because _of course_ Regina made a checklist) and the trunk is finally shut with a snick.

Regina decides Emma’s driving because… well, she doesn’t offer a reason, just slides into the passenger seat, so there’s that. Settling into the driver’s seat, Emma removes her coat so it doesn’t restrict her movement, handing it over to Henry.

She takes a moment to secretly revel in her realization that she’ll be driving a Mercedes-Benz M-Class. With comfy cream-colored seats, a powerful engine and automatic transmission! Her love for cars comes from her dad, who taught her everything, from changing a tyre to fixing the engine of their truck or, later on, her yellow bug. She remembers passing over a wrench or a screwdriver to him, and all those other tools of which she eventually learned the names by heart.

“Guess I’m driving,” Emma says, putting the car into reverse and backing into the empty street.

Regina closes the garage door with the remote. “Sorry, dear. I’m exhausted.” She yawns, as if to prove her point. “Had a late night. And I don’t think you want to wake up and find yourself in the middle of nowhere, because I have no idea where Storybrooke actually is.”

“Fine, but you know I don’t either.” She got to New York by plane back in January. “You studied the map I faxed you?” Emma pauses. “You did receive that yesterday, right?”

“I did. Lena almost had a heart-attack because she couldn't figure out what she was supposed to do with it.”

Emma chuckles. “I can totally see that.”

Regina hums in assent, and from the corner of her eye Emma sees her slump slightly against the seat.

“Deadline?” Emma guesses.

“Yes. But there was a problem with the size of the text on the cover that took over an hour to fix. Honestly, the—”

“—incompetence of some people,” Emma and Henry finish for her at the same time, and start laughing wholeheartedly. Regina huffs, pretending to be angry at them, though the way her lips quirk betray her.

The smile doesn’t leave Emma’s face as she chances a glance at Regina. “You know, you could take a nap if you want. I won’t mind. I know the way until we leave New York.”

“I might take up on your offer.”

[SQ]

They’ve been driving for a little less than forty-five minutes, and Regina has given up trying to sleep for now. She’s exhausted, though unable to sleep. Staring out her window, watching the nearly leafless trees from the other side of Harlem River pass by, she idly wonders if snow will cover its naked branches soon. God, Regina knows she is tired when she starts _wondering_ about pointless things. It doesn’t help that Emma got excited when she found out one of the CDs in the car was ABBA. Hence why Emma and Henry are now singing _Mamma Mia_ from the top of their lungs.

_“...now I really know.”_

_“My, my, I could never let you go!”_

Henry starts laughing as the song comes to an end, and Regina rolls her eyes, smiling fondly. These two... “Will you never get tired?”

“Fine, fine, we can play a game instead, right Hen?”

“You bet!”

Regina sighs.

“But we could also listen to Christmas music?” Emma suggests with a smile, her gaze flicking between the road and Regina.

And Regina can’t deny Emma anything when she smiles like this.

[SQ]

They’re entering I-95 and Regina is finally dead to the world, the Christmas station on the background doing its job of lulling her to sleep. Emma wishes she could take a picture, because Regina is adorable.

“So, Emma…” Henry starts quietly, “Mom said we’d be visiting your parents in… Storybrooke?”

Emma checks if Henry is still sitting properly from the rearview mirror, and nods.

“Mhmm. I think you’re going to like it. It’s a small town near Portland. Everyone knows everyone, like a big family. It can get pretty overwhelming at first, but you get used to it. If you want some peace and quiet, that’s the place,” Emma quips.

“Oh, kind of like when I visited grandma and grandpa in June. They knew all the neighbours.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, “but imagine knowing the whole town.”

[SQ]

The second half of the ride starts in silence, both Mills having dozed off once Emma took the exit to the east of Maine.

There’s a part of her that can’t believe they’re doing this. Can’t believe she’s driving them to meet her family. What will Mom think? And Dad? Emma grips the steering wheel and swallows.

There’s some shifting in the passenger seat, and then Regina asks in a husky voice, “What time is it?”

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Emma grins, her previous thoughts being pushed aside.

“Shut up,” Regina grumbles, grabbing the map that was on Emma’s lap. Of course — she hasn’t had a second cup of coffee yet.

“We can stop at the next service station and get you some coffee, your majesty.”

“What’s with the nicknames? And thank you. Although you haven’t answered my first question.”

“You’re just… adorable when you get mad, sorry,” Emma says. “It’s probably around nine or ten, but those big digital numbers at the console can be more precise.”

“You’re insufferable, has anyone ever told you that?”

Emma catches Regina’s eye, giving her a big toothy smile before focusing on the road once more. “I know.”

There’s a pause.

And then...

“It’s ten now. No wonder I’m craving another cup of coffee.”

“See? I know you so well.”

[SQ]

When they reach the fifth hour mark, Emma is so glad when Regina tells her she should just keep driving up this long desolate two lane highway and they should be there. Her legs can't take it anymore. And she hates driving when the roads are slippery like this.

At least the snow-covered trees are a sight to behold.

“I can't believe you had to mark down the town on your own because MapQuest wouldn't show it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Online maps are shi—” She remembers there’s a kid in the backseat, stopping herself just in time. “Awful.”

“Good save.”

“Thank you.”

She hears the sound of foil paper, and has to suppress her smile when Regina tells Henry not to even _think_ about it. “You’ve had two Twix and an Apollo bar. It’s more than enough. I don’t want you bothering Emma’s parents with all your pent-up energy later.”

Henry sighs audibly, like she just revoked his video game privileges for a week. “Okay.”

“Sneaky, but your mom has super-hearing, kid.”

[SQ]

It seems like forever before Regina spots from the distance an old wooden sign that says _Welcome to Storybrooke._ But there are no buildings in sight.

“Yay, we’re here!” Henry says happily.

“Yup, and I definitely don’t need directions anymore,” Emma proclaims, and Regina folds and places the map inside the glovebox.

They drive in silence for a couple of minutes, down the road with more trees; ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ playing softly on the background.

Finally, a few houses trickle into Regina’s vision.

“So… here’s Main Street.” Emma tells them a few moments later. This seaside town looks so… outlandish, so quaint, its name so accurate — something straight out of a story book. Nearly no cars, lots of people walking down the street, small cafes, shops, historical buildings, and even a Sheriff station. It’s like they’ve gone back in time.

“The clock tower…” Regina trails off, confused.

“That’s the wrong time,” Henry points out.

Emma chuckles. “It’s been like that forever. They say time is stuck here.”

Regina can see where that might have come from.

[SQ]

“Whoa…” Henry whispers as Emma pulls the car into the driveway.

Emma shuts off the engine and unbuckles her own seatbelt, looking at the huge farmhouse she’d spent the last decade living in when they moved houses. She understands why Henry must be a little awestruck — the house is two stories high, stretched wide on each side, giving it a sense of grandness and yet maintaining a homely feel to it. The walls are painted white, off-setting the gray roof. Emma smiles a little, seeing that nothing has changed: the veranda projected in front of the whole house, supported by freshly painted columns, still has lots of armchairs for the hotter days on the left of the front door, a swing chair by the right. Really, some of her best childhood memories are rooted in this place.

Looking across the car at Regina, she asks, butterflies in her stomach, “Ready?”

But then she realizes… Regina is completely _still._ Not moving. At all.

Emma touches her arm and she tenses up quite visibly. Is she… nervous? _Regina Mills_ is nervous? Rubbing her thumb back and forth, she says, nearly in a whisper, “Hey. Are you okay?”

She watches as Regina crosses her legs — even managing not to wince as her right knee hits the glove compartment with a loud thud — and shakes her head, giving Emma a pasted-on smile. “Fine, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Emma throws her a look that says, ‘You really think I’m gonna fall for that?’, because really, who does she think Emma is? and then Emma comments, “You know, did I ever tell you that I always know when you’re lying?”

Regina bristles. “I’m sure that’s—”

Emma turns her neck to the backseat. “Hey, Henry, remember that time I was delivering the Book and you were in the kitchen—”

“No, no,” Henry interrupts her quickly, catching on where she’s going. He leans forward, “don’t tell her that!”

Regina frowns, looking worried. “If he did something that is not allowed, I’d like to know.”

“Nothing important, he was stealing the dessert Carla left on the fridge.”

“Emma!”

She chuckles, reaching out to the backseat and ruffling his hair. “Sorry, kid.”

“You’re not sorry,” he grumbles.

“I’m not, you’re right.” Emma maneuvers herself until she can see Regina properly again. “Well, the point is... I knew he was lying to me. You two do the same thing with your faces when you’re lying.”

“That’s preposterous,” Regina scoffs.

“Try me later. You won’t win.” Emma replies with a smug look.

Regina opens her mouth to retort, but stops herself when Henry’s stomach grumbles. “Can’t we go in?” he whines. “I think your parents are watching us through the window, Emma.”

“Henry,” Regina admonishes.

“It’s okay. Just know this is not over,” Emma says, eyes narrowed. Something is definitely wrong.

Regina shrugs one shoulder and lifts her chin. “Fine.”

Seriously, Regina’s stubborn as a mule.

[SQ]

The moment they step outside the car, the cold Maine air hits Regina in the face and she shivers, pretending not to notice Emma’s parents scurrying away from the large window. Emma walks over and places a red scarf around Regina’s neck. “Can’t have you freezing before we even get inside.”

Regina can only smile, Emma’s attentive nature doing wonders to assuage the nerves in the pit of her stomach. She thanks her before putting her arms around Henry’s shoulders.

Before they’ve taken two steps forward, the click of the lock reaches her ears; the sound feels amplified due to the nervousness she is trying to hide. Regina chews on her bottom lip, her previous excitement vanishing right there as she sees Emma’s parents rushing out the door to greet their daughter. Henry moves closer to her chest.

“Emma!” Mrs. Swan shouts, shortening the distance between them as she hurries down the front steps. The warmth she exudes, the happiness in her restless body language, the infinite kindness in her eyes — it’s plain to see she’s the complete opposite from what Cora was. She immediately wraps Emma into a hug so tight Emma gasps, cradling her in her arms.

“Hi, Mom.” Emma’s voice is muffled in her mother’s neck.

“We've missed you so much, honey! How have you been?” She disentangles herself from Emma slowly as if she never wants to let go, keeping her close, looking her all over. “I know I've already asked, but a mother is a mother, you know…”

Mr. Swan joins them, unhurried, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Mary Margaret, you’ll suffocate her.”

“Nonsense, David,” she bats his concern away with her hand, but lets go of Emma, taking a step back.

The first thing Regina notices as she watches their reunion are the physical similarities between mother and daughter. Mrs. Swan’s pixie cut frames a face not unlike from Emma’s, the tiny wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth displaying the signs of a life well-lived so far. Then there’s Mrs. Swan’s hair color — midnight black hair with a few specks of gray here and there —  which has nothing to do with Emma’s own.

The blonde color must come from her father.

These wonderings serve one purpose, and that is to sate Regina’s overthinking, a habit that got worse as the years went by and _Runway’s_ importance grew — and, by association, reaching perfection became more of a demand. So yes, she is busying herself with these thoughts about hair colors and similarities to delay the inevitable.

“Hey, Dad.” Emma hugs her father, a barely noticeable trembling present in her voice.

After they pull apart, he says, “Let’s go inside— It’s too cold out here, isn’t it?” His nervousness is palpable, and it makes Regina feel slightly better. “We can talk more inside.”

“What about our bags—”

“Oh, we’ll take care of that later,” her mother interrupts. “I’m sure you’re all starving— oh, and I gotta check if the pie isn’t ready yet,” Mary Margaret breathes out a laugh, leading them until they’re inside the house. _Does she ever stop?_ “Was the trip alright, honey?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Emma answers, rolling her eyes with a smile on her lips as they enter the foyer, where they start hanging their coats. Emma takes Regina and Henry’s and stows it beside hers, and something about that image removes some of the unease Regina’s currently feeling. While they remove their shoes, Emma continues, “There was a bit of traffic in the last hour, but other than that it was fine.”

“Emma, you haven’t introduced us yet,” Mary Margaret says with a pointed look.

She questions just _what_ Emma told her parents. She should have asked, because it’s obvious from their _subtle_ wary glances in her direction for the past minutes that they at least know who she is. It’s even possible they hate her.

This may have been a terrible idea, Regina thinks, hugging Henry closer to her right side, her most convincing smile on her features. Emma offers her a reassuring smile of her own as she steps closer to her left and places a warm hand on Regina’s back, calming her down instantly when she starts rubbing her hand in small circles.

[SQ]

“Um... Mom, Dad...” Emma’s voice cracks, her heart threatening to jump out of her throat as she indicates to Regina, whose face is unreadable at the moment, she notices in dismay. “This is Regina— Regina Mills. My girlfriend.”

“I’m Mary Margaret, and this is David.” Mom pats Dad’s shoulder, doing her best to keep smiling brightly. Emma wonders if she really is happy or if she’s pretending just because Emma asked her to act nicely. Then she spots her mom pushing her hair behind her ear, and her suspicions are confirmed: her mom is nervous. “We’re so happy to finally meet you, Regina.”

_That’s a lie, Mom._

Mary Margaret opens her arms, ready for a hug. See, her mom’s thing is affection and warm feelings and Regina… Regina doesn’t do that. Right? Regina doesn’t give hugs. Well, she’s hugged Emma. And Henry, a lot. However, not… people she doesn't know. She’s not a hugger.

There’s a beat where nothing happens, but then Regina steps forward, giving her an air kiss to each cheek, while Emma can only stare, eyes widening in her disbelief. “I’m delighted to meet you.” _Oh my god, she’s doing that formal event thing, oh my god._ Regina repeats the action with David before turning towards Henry, indicating to him. “This is Henry, my son.”

“Nice to meet you,” Henry says with a bright smile, and her parents melt on the spot, of course.


	10. merry christmas and a happy new year

Lunch is… perfectly pleasant.

(Telling herself that will not change the truth.)

“Can I help with anything?” Regina asks before they all sit down to eat.

Emma places a hand on her shoulder. “No, it’s okay,” she whispers. “When Mom is nervous she refuses help, so don’t bother.” She squeezes her shoulder affectionately.

Regina finds she despises feeling out of her element. That is clearly what is happening ever since she set foot in the house.

“You have a dog?!” Henry gasps, spotting a small golden retriever on the other side of the glass doors that lead to the backyard, his tail moving back and forth in his excitement. How fantastic. Now the begging for a pet once they get home will recommence. “Emma, you didn’t tell me you had a dog!”

“That’s because _I_ didn’t know we had a dog until… right now, Hen.” Emma answers, brows furrowed.

David smiles. “You remember the Johnsons? Well, there was a job offer in Europe and they asked if we could take him. It’s not like we don’t have the space.”

Emma pouts. “We never had a dog while I was still here.”

“You and your friends were enough trouble as it was, honey.” Mary Margaret sets the hot dish on the table, sitting herself in the chair next to David after she removes the oven gloves. “How is August and Lily, now that I’ve mentioned? Are they coming home too?”

“Didn’t I mention?” Emma asks, clearing her throat. “We aren’t on speaking terms. Not since…” she trails off with a wince, and Regina remembers Emma mentioning in one of their phone conversations a few friends she lost touch after her _Runway_ tenure.

_This cannot be good._

“Since… _Oh.”_ Mary Margaret’s face hardens in an instant. “The trip.”

Even Henry slides down a little in his seat.

Mary Margaret has baked a wonderful lobster pie; a small mercy at last. It wouldn’t do if Regina had to pretend to enjoy it for the sake of politeness.

“So…” David asks at some point. “Emma mentioned some troubles with the paparazzi?”

And Regina almost _chokes_ on her water.

So there’s that: lunch is _perfectly_ pleasant.

[SQ]

“Emma, they hate me,” Regina says, punctuating each of her words with a folded clothing set forcefully on top of the bed.

It shouldn’t look as terrifying as it does.

“That’s not true—” Regina stares at her unflinchingly, even stops what she’s doing, until Emma caves in. “Okay, they aren’t… your biggest...fans…” _Understatement of the year._ “But give them some time,” Emma hastily adds, nodding for good measure. “I’m sure they’ll come around.”

After the nearly disastrous lunch, Emma asked if they could grab their luggage from the car, before the unpredictable Storybrooke weather acted up. And now here they are, putting away their clothes and toiletries while Henry plays downstairs with Luke, the newest member of the family.

“Fine,” Regina says after a few minutes of silent brooding. “But this is your fault.”

Emma sighs, letting go of the jeans she was going to place inside the drawer. She moves around the bed, enveloping Regina in her arms from behind. Regina is so tiny. Well, she’s tiny compared to all the times she’s in heels, not to mention her demanding aura that gives her at least a few more centimeters on its own. Smiling at her line of thought, Emma buries her nose in Regina’s neck, sniffing her perfume.

“Are you ready to talk about whatever that was in the car?” she asks, planting a kiss right there on her pulse point, enjoying immensely the way Regina breathes in sharply. She’s so responsive, it’s incredible.

“Not really, but I could be persuaded…” Regina’s voice drops in a seductive tone, turning her head slightly in Emma’s direction. Emma has to close her eyes to remain focused.

“You and I both know we don’t have the time right now.”

Regina twist in her embrace until they are looking at each other properly. She pouts with a gleam in her eyes. “You’re no fun, Emma,” she drags out her name, her full lips moving over each letter slowly. Emma has to refrain herself from kissing her senseless for it.

“Regina,” Emma says seriously, mock-glaring to lessen the impact. “Something is bothering you.”

“I won’t test your lie detector.” Regina gives her a small, tremulous smile, watching her own hand push away a lock of Emma’s hair. “I was simply…”

“Simply…?” Emma asks when Regina doesn’t continue.

“Nervous,” she admits, removing herself from Emma’s arms in the process. She sits down on the bed with a huff. “There, is that what you wanted to hear? I was nervous. Because I remembered my last experience of meeting the parents,” she adds, shaking her head, “and let me tell you, it was _not_ a pleasant one, Emma.”

_Oh._

There is so much from Regina’s past she doesn’t know yet. So many things Regina has said she isn’t ready to talk about, or _can’t,_ because they are sore subjects, because they are difficult.

Emma sits next to Regina, grasping her hand in hers. “You could have said no,” she says in a soft voice. “When I asked for you guys to come here. I wouldn’t be upset.”

Regina sighs. “I know you wouldn’t. But do you have any idea how good it feels to not have any responsibilities? Any worries?” She stares at Emma, smiling gently. It’s so good to be able to see this side of Regina; no emotionless mask. Instead, she is brimming with affection in her gaze. “I’ll be fine. I just have to win your parents’ approval.”

Emma nods and laughs. “Yeah. If there’s anyone who can do it, that person is Regina Mills.”

[SQ]

Dinner is better than lunch. Henry has come out of his shell and talks like there’s no tomorrow, rendering a good few laughs out of everyone. (Regina has to warn him to not speak with his mouth full two times, though). Emma knows her parents miss having a kid around. She can picture Henry being spoiled rotten.

Henry is staying in her old room (which, fortunately, had been repainted in the time she went away and her embarrassing band posters removed — she’d never hear the end of it if Regina saw it).

There’s something decidedly nerve-wracking about lying in bed right next to your girlfriend, though.

Perched on the edge of the bed, Emma brushes her wet hair unhurriedly while she waits for Regina to return from the en-suite. She yawns, finding she’s more tired than she’d realized; the shower she took earlier contributing to the sleepiness attaching to her body like a koala.

It _had_ been a long trip, to be fair.

Just as she has placed the hairbrush on the dressing table, the door from the bathroom opens and Regina comes out wearing a blue silk pyjama set, her hair dry and curly. Regina is so beautiful.

“You know, there’s a perfectly functioning hair dryer in the bathroom,” Regina says, setting the dress she wore for the day inside her suitcase. “You’ll catch your death if you leave it like that.”

“But I’m tired,” Emma whines.

“Emma.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

[SQ]

When Emma returns to the bedroom, the bedside lamp is still on.

However, Regina is asleep, tucked in the bed, the covers up to her chin.

Emma smiles at the sight and pads softly until she gets to the other side, getting under the covers. Turning off the light, she’s adjusting herself when Regina mumbles, “Emma?” and moves closer, throwing an arm on top of her, glueing herself to Emma’s body.

_Regina is a cuddler. Who would have guessed._

Kissing her forehead, Emma whispers, “Good night, Regina.”

It’s not difficult falling asleep after that.

[SQ]

“We had horses in Daddy’s ranch,” Regina is saying as they walk to the stables, following a gravel pathway from the back of the house onto the further right side of the property. “I took riding lessons until I was seventeen. My first husband was the stable boy.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling with reverent memories.

Henry skips ahead, pausing every once in a while to pet Luke, answering David or Mary Margaret’s questions.

“Oh?” Emma asks, curiosity coloring her tone. She glances her way before staring back at the way they are heading. “That’s how you met him, then?”

“Yes. Mother was not happy when we started dating. But later, when he got a law scholarship at Columbia…” Regina scoffs. “Things changed, of course.”

“Sorry, but… Your mother was a piece of work, wasn’t she?”

 _Indeed._ “That’s one way of putting it.”

[SQ]

Emma leans against the wooden fence, watching David trot around in his trusted steed; Regina on the midnight black horse with Henry. Her posture is perfect, like she’d never gave up the riding lessons. _Is there anything she doesn’t excel at?_

“She’s good, isn’t she?” Mom pipes up, bumping her arm good-naturedly.

“She is.” Emma smiles as she hears Henry laugh gleefully from something Regina said.

“Perhaps we were being too harsh yesterday. There’s more to her than meets the eye.”

Emma turns her head in her mom’s direction, eyes wide. “You’re giving her a chance?”

She nods. “You clearly did. It’s only fair we do the same, Emma.”

[SQ]

Regina hears the click of the bedroom’s lock, so she carefully peeks out of the bathroom’s door. Sure enough, Emma has returned from wherever she went after she took her own shower, the flannel pyjamas cute only because Emma was the one wearing them. “Everyone has gone to bed. Henry wished you a good night again,” Emma says with her voice raised, her back to her.

Clearing her throat, Regina grasps the towel wrapped around her body more firmly.

Emma’s eyes widen once she looks at Regina. “Sorry. I can—” She motions with her thumb in the direction of the door. “I thought— I can come back later?”

Regina lets go of the towel, and doesn’t stray her eyes from Emma when it drops on the floor. Below the towel, black La Perla lingerie. “Or…”

“Y-yeah?”

“You could stay.”

[SQ]

The air in the bedroom crackles with sexual tension as Emma’s lips find Regina’s sharp collarbone, placing several other kisses on her way down her body.

Somehow they ended up in bed completely nude, Emma’s pyjamas and the underwear strewn around the floor.

(Emma suspects Regina will complain about it in the morning, but can’t find in herself to care about it at the moment.

She is concerned with other matters. Touching Regina; mapping her body, her curves; what makes her feel good; being touched by her. It’s exhilarating.)

Caressing Regina’s waist with her thumbs, she finally brushes a nipple between her lips, and spurred on by Regina’s soft gasps, captures it with her mouth, circling it with her tongue. Emma watches as Regina closes her eyes, head tilted back, mouth slightly open.

Emma doesn’t know what she’s doing. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says aloud once she lets go of Regina’s breast, laughing a little.

Regina breathes out a laugh, pulling her up with a hand behind her neck, and kisses her. Kisses her deeply, open mouthed, a desire so strong; it makes Emma shiver when she licks along her bottom lip. “You’re doing a good job, don’t worry,” Regina reassures her, her lips brushing against Emma’s as she speaks. “We’ll learn together.”

She takes Emma’s hand in hers, trailing it down her own stomach, guiding it between her own legs. A pleasant warmth pools in Emma’s belly as she watches, and Regina does not hesitate when she presses Emma’s hand against her warm center.

“Together,” Emma reiterates, and they spend the night learning their bodies, rediscovering pleasure; soft whimpers, swollen lips, pleasure and arousal, loud moans muffled by kisses, great orgasms, an emotional connection.

(Emma wonders what took her so long — women are incredible. Well, Regina is incredible.)

[SQ]

If Emma’s parents suspect or know anything, they certainly don’t show it.

Good. There’s no way Regina wants to feel embarrassed so soon if they did hear them — not when her spirits are this high.

It’s Christmas Eve.

She’s spending her holidays warm, cozy and next to people she cares about.

The afternoon passes in a blur of baking cookies and preparing the Christmas dinner. Mary Margaret lets her help with the turkey.

Regina supposes it’s a good sign.

[SQ]

So… Emma might be feeling good in the green dress she’s wearing for the dinner, but Regina looks…

Regina looks fantastic.

A sinful scarlet red dress that ends on her knees, matching red lipstick (Regina doesn’t allow anything more than a peck on her lips; God forbid if Emma smudges her lipstick before photos) and one side of her hair held by a silver hair clip.

Dinner is very, very nice. Her parents even talk with Regina normally!

(“Oh, I need the recipe for this gravy, Regina,” Mom says. “It’s to die for.”

or

“Henry told me you two paint? Is it a worthwhile hobby?” Dad asks. Emma doesn’t question it. Uh uh. If Dad wants to start painting, good for him. Good luck, actually. Her nonexistent artistic eye comes from him.)

Henry is now setting a glass of milk and a plate filled with homemade cookies at the living room’s coffee table. “I can’t wait for tomorrow!”

Regina chuckles, wrapping him in her arms. “Good night then. Off you go,” she says to him, smiling as her little prince scampers off up the stairs in the next moment. She hopes he keeps believing in Santa for another year at least. She does not want to see him grow up. (And she also does.)

“Well, we could open our gifts now,” Mary Margaret says with a smile. “I’m sure Santa won’t mind.”

“Yeah, why not?” Emma shrugs, and throws herself on the couch. She’s such a child. She indicates for Regina to sit next to her.

They all had set their presents (excluding ‘Santa’s’ gifts) below the huge Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, beside an armchair and the fireplace. It is also very… _bright_ — so many ornaments and baubles and lights adorning it. Regina’s aesthetic standards had pinged uncomfortably, but she refrained from commenting. Especially once she saw Emma’s twelve-year-old wooden carved angel.

Regina stays silent as David brings all the gifts closer, wondering if they will like what she bought. Emma pulls her close to her to press a single kiss on her forehead — so, hypothetically speaking, there is no way she could run if things turned sour. Not that she would run, of course. She’s Regina Mills.

She does not run.

Regina blinks when Emma disentangles from her, a soft “Oh” falling from her lips. Had Regina been so self-absorbed she didn’t see Emma opening a present?

“You can fill it with anything you want, Emma. We just… we thought it would be nice if you could preserve your own memories, now.” David smiles, gazing lovingly at his daughter. It makes Regina’s heart ache for the things she never had — a family who loved her fully, no holding back.

Daddy had loved her, but was it enough? He let Cora get away with emotional abuse and manipulation for the entirety of her childhood.

It’s a photo album. Such a simple gift, but so thoughtful and heartwarming.

 _Let’s get this over with._ “I suppose we had the same thing in mind,” Regina comments, leaning over to get her small rectangular box enveloped in decorative paper. She hands it over to Emma. “You have a great future ahead. And a writer like yourself needs a fancy pen.”

Like an overeager child, Emma rips the wrapping paper with no hesitation. “You didn’t!” She gasps once she opens the box, covering her face with her hands and laughing. Regina rather hopes she’s laughing with joy. “Holy shit! You got me a fancy pen!”

“Language, Emma.” Mary Margaret admonishes, but can’t help her chuckling as Emma fawns over her black Mont Blanc fountain pen.

“It’s so… Oh god, this costed a fortune, didn’t it? I shouldn’t accept this, Regina.”

Regina waves the thought away. She wanted to gift this to her. She knew Emma would appreciate it. “Nonsense, Emma. It’s yours.”

Emma turns her head in Regina’s direction, giving her a kiss on the cheek. For some reason Regina can feel her face turning warm. “Thank you.”

[SQ]

Downstairs, Emma gives Regina a book gift card.

“I didn’t want to guess your preference but I know you’re always reading when you can,” Emma tells her, but lets her know there’s another gift in the bedroom. Nothing dirty. She doesn’t think they’ve reached _that_ stage in their relationship yet.

Her mom knitted matching sweaters for her and Regina. Oh god. She wouldn’t put it past Regina if she burned the damn thing.

(Emma suspects she did it on purpose for a few simple reasons: 1) because she’d been mad when Emma first told her the news; 2) she certainly never bothered to knit a sweater for Neal; 3) she knitted a whole other sweater in such a short time; 4) and there’s something about the odd reindeer pattern that makes her think it was a deliberate choice.

Her mom would never admit to being this petty, though.)

They’re inside the bedroom, already in their pyjamas, both sitting at the edge of the bed.

“What’s this?” Regina asks with a confused frown.

Emma averts her eyes, suddenly bashful, as Regina takes the item in her hands. What if she doesn’t like it? “Well, I thought… I wanted to give you something meaningful for us. I found the notebook when I was snooping around my old stuff a few weeks ago.”

Regina pulls the notebook open with careful fingers, and stays silent as she brushes through a few random pages.

“You made a roster,” Regina comments, and her face doesn’t betray what she’s thinking.

 **A Roster by Emma Swan** (Updated March 27th)

  * **Regina Mills** – Editor-in-chief
  * **Jefferson Hatter** – Art Director
  * **Lena Green** – First Assistant
  * **Robert Gold** – Chairman of Elias-Clarke (creepy guy)
  * **Demarchelier** – Photographer
  * **James** – Photography Department (never seen him in my life but I know he exists)
  * **Kathryn** – Accessories Department
  * **Greg** – Pattern Department
  * **Ursula** – Style & Trends Department
  * **Ingrid** – Casting Department
  * **Ashley** \- Beauty Department
  * **Belle** – Beauty Department (no pun intended)



Emma wants to plunge into a black hole and let it swallow her up. It might be preferable than hearing Regina say—

“I love it.”

“I’m sorry, it was a silly idea—”

Emma processes the words. “Oh. You like it.”

“I believe I said I love it...” Regina raises an eyebrow, a smirk on her lips. “This is priceless. You knew Mr. Gold was trouble back in February!”

“Of course!” Emma exclaims. “The guy is creepy, Regina.”

“Fair enough. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with him every day.”

“Oh, rescheduling your meetings whenever possible was not a task I enjoyed very much,” Emma huffs.

Regina hums, but doesn’t comment further. She skips a few pages, until, “Regina’s Unspoken Rules,” she reads aloud and snorts very uncharacteristically.

It’s adorable.

“‘Never, ever, board the elevator with her.’,” Regina repeats. “You broke this rule, Emma! Several times, in fact!” If this is the way Regina’s unrestrained laugh sounds like, Emma will let her laugh at her expense at any time.

That might be an exaggeration, but… close enough.

They both fall on their backs against the mattress, chuckling together as they examine the Moleskine. Eventually Regina sighs, but it sounds content. Notebook now against her chest, she meets Emma’s eyes with a gaze filled with happiness. “Thank you,” she whispers. “And not just for this.” She taps her fingers against the cover. “For everything you’ve done for me, for Henry. Sometimes I forget I carry a hundred different problems behind my back. You have that power, Emma.”

Emma’s leftover laughter lines disappear. The feeling grows unbidden, her stomach doing several somersaults in succession as Emma finally, finally grasps on its meaning, like it had been waiting for a _moment_ to peek from some hidden corner of her mind. Her fingers weave through dark hair and she presses their lips together, a long, languid, loving kiss that doesn’t match the furious tempo of her heart.

When they part, Emma can only say with certainty, right in Regina’s ear...

_“I love you.”_

Regina moves to sit astride her, saying, “Oh, Emma…” She brushes away a few stray hairs from Emma’s face. “I never thought I’d find real love again.”

“And,” Emma swallows. “And now?”

The smile she gives her is… _magnificent._ “I’m looking right at her.”


	11. going home

The first portion of the trip back is filled with recollections about the days spent on the house, laughter and lots of bad singing from Emma’s part that makes Regina sigh and roll her eyes fondly.

Her parents had even managed to  _ hug _ Regina. That’s crazy stuff right there!

And now Emma is humming quietly to the radio station and drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road as Regina and Henry take a nap. The silence gives way to her thoughts, and she tightens her hold on the wheel when she’s reminded of the fact that their little bubble of happiness will burst as soon as they arrive in New York.

These last couple of days were _incredible;_ Regina had the time to relax and Emma’s so glad she was able to give that to her. She’s so glad to have Regina and Henry in her life again. However, recalling that Regina’s soft and warm body won’t be next to hers when Emma wakes up tomorrow is enough to pull down her smile and to stop her from humming.

Of course, they will still be in touch and everything, but will that be enough? Will video calls and e-mails and text messages be enough?

By the second hour and a half, Emma’s stomach grumbles, and she really wanted an Apollo Bar, but they forgot to pack up with snacks. Therefore, Emma does the sensible thing and calls, “Regina,” while checking out for the next service station. Now she _really_ needs a grilled cheese.

But Emma has realized that Regina is quite the heavy sleeper, so calling her does _nothing._

“Regina,” she tries again, taking a peek at her girlfriend’s sleeping form. Regina grumbles but doesn’t wake up.

“That won’t work, Emma,” Henry says with a yawn. “Try shaking her a little. That usually works.”

“Could you do that for me, Hen? Your mom would kill me if she knew I took my hands off the wheel.”

“Sure,” Henry replies, already leaning forward to grasp his mom’s shoulder.

Emma pulls up at the service station and stops the car, just as Henry manages to wake Regina up, and the sight is... damn, Regina running a hand through her face and blinking owlishly at her as Emma explains why they stopped shouldn’t be considered _adorable,_ (and Regina would probably glare at her for it, so she keeps the thought in her mind), but it _is,_ in fact, adorable.

“You woke me up because you want a _grilled cheese.”_ Regina croaks, voice rough from sleep.

“Sorry?” Emma replies with a toothy smile.

Regina sighs and rolls her eyes. “Not the puppy face.”

[SQ]

Regina had promised herself she would not cry. But right when they get inside the townhouse foyer, Emma lets one of the bags fall with a _thump_ on the ground and pulls her into a crushing hug.

“I don’t care if you’re not the hugging type or something,” Emma mumbles in the nape of her neck, “I’m gonna miss you, okay?”

Regina had promised herself she would not cry. But she tears up nevertheless, sliding her hands over Emma’s back and shoulder blades, burying her own face on Emma’s neck. _Is this… is this a goodbye?_ echoes in her mind, Emma’s words before the trip enough to make the first tears drop, and for the next minutes they stay like that, crying softly, and Regina does not take a second of it for granted.

Then, she pulls away to be face to face again, and says, with trembling lips, “It’s not a goodbye.”

Emma sniffs and nods, wiping away a tear at the corner of Regina’s eye. “I know.” She pauses, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “You couldn’t stay away from me even if you tried.”

They both laugh, soft and wet from tears, and Regina wants and craves for more time, to repeat the last few days once more. Instead, Regina pulls her in for a kiss, one that is slow and unhurried and tastes like something uniquely Emma mixed with salt from their tears.

Later, after Emma and Henry’s tight hug and promises to keep in touch, Regina closes the door with a click, exhaling shakily, pressing her forehead against the wood.

“Mom?” Henry asks, a hesitant tone at the edge of his question, so Regina straightens up and turns to him. “We’ll still get to see Emma sometimes, right?”

Regina nods, pulling him close. “Yes, sweetheart.”


	12. images passing by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title of the chapter borrowed from 'my love, my life' by ABBA.  
> (i've been in a mamma mia 2 mood for weeks now)

**March 2007**

They meet once in a while. No big events, nothing like that. (That would be a disaster.) Regina invites Emma for dinner at a little bistro, or Emma drops by at the house and they play Monopoly, or Pictionary, or watch a movie together. It’s good. So good.

However, no matter how silly the thought might be, Emma finds it’s more and more difficult every day to say goodbye, like a piece of her is taken away.

They create a schedule of sorts, and it’s decided: Wednesday nights are dedicated to Skype calls. The video quality oscillates between awful and passable, but it’s _something._ With Regina’s divorce proceedings having reached a stalemate, what’s left to do is wait.

“How was work today?” Regina asks after they’ve managed to connect, already under the covers, accommodating herself better against the headboard. She removes the glasses which were on the bridge of her nose (most likely, she was reviewing the Book before the call, Emma guesses).

“Nothing much… A lot of fact and copy check, though.” Emma replies, and shrugs. She rolls noodles around her fork, taking a bite.

She watches from the corner of her eye as Regina leans forward slightly, the movement slow because of the terrible image. “You’re having dinner _now?”_ she asks. The image may be lagging a lot, but her voice doesn’t lose its intimidating effect.

Emma swallows. “Maybe?”

“Don’t tell me those are instant noodles.”

“They aren’t?”

“Are you asking me… or telling me?” Regina asks with a smile, and Emma has a flashback to a day where those same words were said. Only it feels like a lifetime has passed since Emma apologized with flowers. “Haven’t we been through this before?” Seems like they were thinking the same.

Emma eats more of her delicious noodles and nods. “Yes.”

“You eat like a child.”

“It’s just not worth it to buy lots of fresh food for myself. Besides, I’m almost never home for lunch anyway.”

“Still, you could take better care of your health, Emma.”

“I do work-out a lot during the weekend,” Emma pouts. “I don’t have a chef at home anymore.”

“Pardon?” Regina asks, and Emma finally realizes what she just said. _Great, Emma! Mention the ex-boyfriend!_

As their time together went by, Emma noticed that Regina was… _slightly_ jealous. Just a little bit. It was not worth it mentioning her past relationships, because Regina would get cranky.

Now that the mistake has already been made… “Didn’t I tell you? He’s a chef.”

Regina scowls. “I doubt his lasagna is better than mine.”

Laughing wholeheartedly, Emma nods, “Of course it isn’t.”

[SQ]

**April 2007**

**Emma:** Please tell me you enjoy root beer.

 **Regina:** Henry does.

 **Emma:** Right. Henry.

 **Regina:** There’s vanilla ice cream I requested for you in the freezer.

 **Emma:** Have I told you how much I love you???

 **Regina:** I love you too. Six o’clock should be fine?

 **Emma:** Work ends at six. Be there ASAP.

[SQ]

**May 2007**

Time passes; it's suddenly May. Regina tells her the divorce proceedings are going nicely—Robin's been cooperative. The media doesn't get tired of publishing at least something once a week. Emma just wants this to be over; they haven't been able to meet enough for the last few months.

Her parents called her the other night, inquiring about her life (Honey, your last article was really good! and _We can't wait to see you again!_ ) but the thing that struck out the most was their asking about Regina's wellbeing.

They hadn't seemed all that ecstatic when Emma brought Regina and Henry in tow back in December, but they warmed up quickly to their presence. I mean, who wouldn't? Regina as an EIC can really be terrible, yes, but Regina Mills, her girlfriend, is incredibly sweet and charming.

God, she misses her.

[SQ]

The security guard from the building helps her inside Elias-Clarke, blocking any paparazzi from getting too close. Quite frankly, this is _ridiculous._ They have not hounded her residence for a few months now, thankfully, and that’s a blessing she cannot take for granted.

Inside the elevator, Regina allows herself to release a shaky breath, leaning against the metal wall for a second as she gathers her wits and builds herself back up.

They will not defeat her.

_For Henry._

_For Emma._

[SQ]

_New York Post_

_Sightings_

...REGINA Mills and another woman having lunch together at 206 West St, NY 10282 in Manhattan on 5/09.

[SQ]

**June 2007**

She types, types and types, powering through the deadline. Her head bobs to Billie Holliday (a recommendation from Regina) as she checks the spelling in this particular paragraph.

Leaning to skim over her notes on her right, Emma tries to figure out if that was a _i_ or _l…_ Sometimes her handwriting is illegible even to her.

She just wants to get home, though! Bask in the glory of having finished this short piece and go back to her own personal writing.

For the last few months, Emma started a small project of sorts, to pass her free time. It’s involved serious research. Piles and piles of papers and newspapers and notes accumulated in her coffee table, next to the space destined to her laptop and one of the Moleskine notebooks left remaining after _Runway,_ rough drafts being compiled into something much bigger.

Emma doesn’t know if she’ll ever publish this, but she’ll show it to Regina some day, when she finally holds the complete version in her hands.

For now, she deletes a repeated ‘of’ from her article, rolling her eyes because the 300 words become 299 and now she _needs_ something to fill that space because odd numbers are evil.

[SQ]

**July 2007**

Air kisses. Handshakes. Fake laughter.

Regina leans back slightly, listening carefully as Lauren whispers the name of this unimportant person in her ear. She immediately gives him an all-teeth I-don’t-care-about-you-but-you-will-never-know smile, greeting him with a hand outstretched, which the man grasps in his as if she were made of porcelain. She answers that with a strong eye contact and a firm squeeze to his hand, because she’s Regina Mills, not a weakling.

The worst part of these events are the moments interspaced with small talk, pointless and mindless niceties she doesn’t care about — ‘Oh, what a lovely weather today, hmm?’ or ‘I’m sure the next cover will look divine, as they always do!’ sound exactly the same in their repetitions and variations; she’s not one-hundred percent sure a part of her isn’t decaying a little when they are uttered.

It wasn’t rare for her to bring Robin to these events; however, the way he’d eventually started to complain about them afterwards made her reconsider.

Regina nods as the man goes on and on about his time in Italy (why that came up is completely lost on her), “Yes, yes, Florence is just delightful during spring,” are the words that she uses to cut him off, not mentioning the fact she has never actually been to Tuscany.

[SQ]

**August 2007**

“Seriously, you’re able to write about anything and everything that comes your way. It’s inspiring, Emma,” Ruby says, patting her shoulder on her way back to her desk. “NASA’s launching of the Phoenix spacecraft? I’m sure they’ll give you the fifth page.”

Emma shrugs. “Anything is better than those fluff pieces or putting together an art gallery review,” she answers, pointing with her pen in her friend’s direction, “and you know I enjoy any type of writing. If I can be witty about it. Writing for the sake of writing is boring.”

“I know, I know. I’ll stick to my fashion column, thank you very much.”

[SQ]

Regina lightly knocks on Henry’s slightly ajar door, waiting for his ‘Come in!’ before going in. He turns to her, dropping his pencil against his desk.

“Henry,” Regina starts, a smile on her features, her cellphone held close to her chest, “there’s someone that wishes to talk to you.”

His eyes light up, and he holds out a hand to take it.

“Emma!” he shouts on the line a few second later. Regina leans against the doorframe, a smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, I’m great! … Mhmm! … Mom didn’t have the time to bake a cake today but she said I can help her with one in the weekend!”

They talk for a while, and Regina watches as Henry’s grin never falters once during the conversation.

It’s mind-blowing, the fact that Emma Swan charmed its way into both hers and Henry’s life (and hearts) without warning.

(Regina wonders how it was like before, and sometimes forgets she’d been stuck in a loveless marriage for four years.

Then her heart twinges when she remembers _Daniel_ and how alike he and Emma are, and also aren’t.

He would have liked her, Regina knows it.)


	13. full circle

**February 2008**

The divorce is finalized in October, right after the end of Paris Fashion Week.

Regina pays Emma a surprise visit that ends in steamy sex after they celebrate with expensive champagne.

They decided to keep it to themselves for a while — not exactly hiding their relationship, but not doing any overt pronouncement. It’s been good, going out without caring if they were recognized and letting the newspapers convolute stories about ‘Regina’s new friend’.

Regina touches her hand, breaking her line of thought. “Are you ready, Emma?”

Emma breathes in sharply through her nose, the flashes outside the car so immediately subsequent to one another they are leaving blank spots in her vision.

Tonight is the big night.

“C’mon, I was born ready.” Her lips quirk up, looking at Regina’s eyes, which communicate the worry, the nervousness, the care and, most importantly, the love reflected there.

“I love you.” Regina squeezes her hand softly.

Smiling coyly, Emma leans over and kisses her cheek. “I know.”

Regina tuts, shaking her head. “You’re incorrigible, have I ever told you that?”

“Yes,” Emma nods in earnest. “At least three times between this month and the last.”

[SQ]

**_And the Oscar goes to…_ **

_Well, well, well, just who was that pretty blonde woman looking very fine with Regina Mills at the Kodak Theater two nights ago? This year we were afforded more than Marion Cotillard’s victory as Best Actress, prepare yourselves! We have been trying to figure out who this woman is for months._

_A source told Page Six she is an up and coming journalist with a rising reputation in the business; Emma Swan. But that’s not all! She is none other than Regina Mills’ ex-assistant from 2006. Gasp. The couple of the year, I’d say._

_Regina Mills offered no comments after the pair landed in the JFK last night._

[SQ]

Emma almost spills her coffee all over _The Post_ once she finishes reading. “Oh my god, Regina, this is hilarious.” She raises her head and looks at her girlfriend, who is sitting on one of the island stools.

“Hmm, I’m glad you find it so.” Regina rolls her eyes. “I have contacted my PR agency— we might have to clear up a few things soon.”

“They think we started dating waaaay back.”

“Well,” Regina tilts her head, smirking. “We did. But they don’t need to know that.”

[SQ]

During the first week after their public announcement, Robert Gold calls a board meeting to resolve the ‘issue with the current news’. He wants to fire her, of course.

Even if Regina did not have the financial knowledge she does, she knows the sales will spike up again. They did when the divorce started. And when the divorce ended.

So why should now be any different?

The board of directors agree it is a decision not to be taken lightly, and vote against Gold’s request.

[SQ]

 _“Mom!”_ Henry calls out. _“Emma! Come see this!”_

“What is it, kid?” Emma asks once she gets to the living room, abandoning her work at the study, prompted by Henry’s excited shouts.

“Where’s Mom?”

“I’m right here. What have I told you about—”

“Whoa.” Emma interrupts, eyes wide at the image of herself and Regina smiling to the cameras at The Oscars’ red carpet. “That’s... me. On television.”

“Is that good? It’s good, right?” Henry asks, all eyes reading the same headline:

**_Elias-Clarke at a steady 6% profit increase_ **

_“...the stockholders are over the moon. A new target audience for Runway has been reported by The Washington Post over the past month. The sales of Runway Magazine continue to increase and provide…”_

Emma still cannot believe it. She runs a hand through her hair, laughing joyfully as Regina answers him, “Yes. It means the magazine is still mine.”

“Yes! You go, Mom!” Henry jumps over the couch and hugs her tightly, knocking her back a few steps.

Emma joins them, so happy that everything is finally _right._

And everything was worth the wait.

“You did it, Regina. I’m so happy for you,” she murmurs in her ear, a kiss following her statement.

Regina meets her eyes. _“We_ did it, Emma,” she emphasizes, teary-eyed and _glowing_ with happiness. “Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some bonus one-shots ideas I can write for this universe, is that something anyone would like to read? lol  
> Thank you again and I do hope you liked it! ☻
> 
> Writers and artists spent months creating the fics and art you enjoy - it would mean the world to them if you commented to tell them what you liked! The SQSupernova team is also sponsoring a contest for commenters, and you can find out more [here](http://sqsupernova.tumblr.com/post/177527168129/the-swan-queen-supernova-comments-contest-returns).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Reunion Wears Prada [Fanart]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666018) by [EvilRegal_gis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilRegal_gis/pseuds/EvilRegal_gis)




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